


He Called Me Sweetheart

by Emmybazy



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes, Relationship is established in first chapter, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson Friendship, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:47:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22836505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmybazy/pseuds/Emmybazy
Summary: In 1934, Steve doesn't know why Bucky pays him any attention. In 1936, Bucky tells him.In 1943, Steve follows Bucky into war. In 1945, Bucky wishes he hadn't.In 2012, Steve wakes up in a world without Bucky. In 2015, Bucky finds him.Or, a story about Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes as they grow up and grapple with how to love someone the way they need to be loved, not just the way you want to love them.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 21
Kudos: 182





	1. Before World War II

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I've been writing fic for years but this is my first foray into this fandom so please be forgiving/let me know if I get any of the fandom jargon wrong. I'm up to date on the MCU movies but it's been awhile since I actually watched CATFA and CATWS. I used an MCU timeline for all of the dates for the major events. I will admit that I think Steve is a touch OOC in this fic but it's the direction the story went so I stuck with it. 
> 
> I've been working on this fic for about 6 months now and almost didn't post it- I'm used to writing for smaller fandoms and the bigger fandoms have always scared me. However, I've been searching for a fic that handles the whole "if Steve and Bucky were in a relationship pre-war, how Bucky reacts seeing Steve" in a very very specific way and I have yet to find that fic. As the old fanfic saying goes, if you can't find it, write it. Somehow, one scene turned into 25k of flirting and honest conversations and protective boyfriends fluff. 
> 
> Thank you in advance for reading- this fic is complete but I will be staggering posting the chapters. There are only 3 and I'll post them all 3 days apart.

Steve leans against the brick wall outside O’Shea’s Corner Store. He wipes his brow, sweat dampening the hair on the back of his neck. He’s still wearing his school uniform. He’s a few years away from graduating but if he had his way, he’d drop out and start working to help his mother. She put her foot down, saying he has to finish. She never hesitates to point when they see someone drive past in a car, “someone in that car finished school.”

Summer and winter each come with their own difficulties for Steve. In the summer, he can hardly breathe through the humidity. In the winter, it’s even worse with the frequent colds and in-frequent cases of pneumonia. It’s almost the end of the perfect time of year for Steve, those few weeks in spring when the weather is still somewhat mild and the pollen has gone down. 

Steve tries to focus on the brick biting into his shoulder so he doesn’t glare. Bucky’s standing outside O’Sheas, twenty feet away, wearing his grungy white uniform and stark-bleached apron. He’s leaning on a broom he’s supposed to be using to sweep. His muscular frame holds him up while his feet push him into a jaunty stance. 

Bucky’s flirting with a red head a year above Steve in school, thinks her name is Martha Joe or Jean or something. He doesn’t care about anything beyond the smirk on Bucky’s face and the fact she’s holding him up. She’s distracting him — Bucky would never make Steve wait in the sun but Martha J has probably been forcing Bucky to talk to her. He’d never be rude to a customer, so he hasn’t seen the time. Yeah, must be that. 

Martha Whatever smiles at Bucky one last time and spins away, Bucky waving after her. Bucky’s family is different from Steve’s. Bucky’s the oldest of five and his parents didn’t put up much of a fight when he dropped out last year to take up the job at O’Shea’s. It’s good work, and ok pay for having no experience. Old Mrs.O’Shea says she hired Bucky for the smile he’s sending at Martha J right now, said he made people forget that it was hard times. Bucky’s been tipped with a few apples over the year. He always saves them to share with Steve and his siblings, only taking a bite for himself. 

Bucky starts to whistle as he sweeps again. His hair is getting a bit long. It’s starting to curl at the edges, framing his face. Steve is staring at one of the curls when Bucky notices him. 

“Steve! Jesus, how long you been there?” Bucky demands, his mother-hen tone coming to light though he swears he doesn’t have one. 

Steve smirks, “A while. You were too busy trying to talk your way into her skirt to notice.”

Bucky’s cheeks pink, “I was doing no such thing,” he says it loudly, in case either of the O’Sheas are listening, “I was helping a customer out.” He lowers his voice back down again, “You know you can go inside, you can’t be out here in the sun like this.” He wraps an arm around Steve’s shoulder and drags him towards the open door to the shop, “Wait inside while I finish sweeping and then we can walk home.”

Steve does as he’s told, hides how much he enjoys being looked out for by Bucky. He’s pretended ever since their first meeting a few years back. Becca and Steve had been practicing times tables together and one of the bigger kids, Tommy Sanders, came to pick on them. Steve had tried to protect Becca, stepping in when Tommy grabbed for her pigtails. Next thing Steve can remember is Tommy on the ground with Bucky on top of him, a threatening mass coiled with a focused rage. Bucky didn't even need to throw a punch for Tommy to scamper away. 

After Tommy had scurried away, instead of thanking him, Steve, angry at the hand God had dealt him and unwilling to accept help from anyone, had said ‘I could have taken him.’ Bucky had grinned that toothy smirk at him, said ‘I’m sure you could have’ before running his hand over Becca’s hair. Tommy never picked on Becca or Steve again, Bucky a big enough shield for them both.

“Hey there Steven,” says Michael O’Shea, the store’s owner, “How you been, haven’t seen you round in a bit.”

“I’m doing well Mr. O’Shea. How’s business?”

Mr. O’Shea shrugs, “Not as bad as it’s been. People are surviving, if not thriving.” Steve nods. “How’s your Ma doing?” 

“Well sir, thanks for asking.” Steve doesn’t tell him about the weary looks he sometimes catches on her irises. He’s not sure she even knows it’s there. She always thought she was a better actor than she actually is. 

The bell over the door clatters when Bucky swings through the door, “Front’s clean Sir!”

“Good boy—off with you then. We’ll see you in the morning. Enjoy the sun while you can.”

“Will do as ordered sir!” Bucky tosses his apron on a hook behind the counter and drags Steve out, taking the side of the sidewalk in direct light so Steve can walk under the awnings, “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“I don’t mind.” Steve says, a bit too honestly. He bites the corner of his lip. 

Bucky’s almost a year and a half older than him. No one really understands why Bucky puts up with him—the sickly kid that waits outside O’Shea’s for one of the coolest kids in the neighborhood. Hell, Steve doesn’t get it himself. All he knows is that actions speak louder than words. Last winter, when someone had made fun of him at school for being Bucky’s shadow, Steve had gone straight home instead of making his usual pitstop. Bucky knocked on the door an hour later, hat in his hands, asking Steve’s mother if Steve was ok. Since then, Steve meets Bucky every day after school and if he doesn’t show, Bucky takes it as a sign he’s sick and buys a can of soup to bring to Steve. 

“You talk to your Ma last night?”

“Yeah,” Steve frowns, “She says I can help her out but she doesn’t want me anywhere near the docks or construction sites. She thinks with an extra set of hands, she might be able to add another house or two to her rotation.”

“Well, that’s good then,” Bucky grins, one arm out towards the sun, his fingertips glowing, “You’ll be able to start earning some money yourself.”

Steve nods with a sigh, “Everyone’s gonna make fun of me next year.”

“Why?”

“I’m going to be a maid for the summer,” Steve glides his palm over the brick wall as he walks, likes the grit against his hands. “People already think there’s something wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with honest work,” Bucky insists, “Especially if it’s helping your ma out. Next year, you can show off to everyone that you have pocket change while they all sat on their asses.”

“As long as they don’t try to steal the pocket change.”

Bucky pauses a moment before catching up to Steve, “Anyone even tries, you tell me their names and I’ll get you back interest.”

Steve shakes his head with a sly grin, “Don’t need you to fight my battles for me.”

Bucky goes along with the change in tone, “Got nothing to do with you. A guy can like a fight here or there Steve.”

“A guy could, but not you. You hate getting involved.”

Bucky shrugs, “Not as much as I hate you getting hurt.” Steve tips his head away to hide his face. 

They cross the street by Steve’s apartment, “Can you come up? Ma won’t be home for a while yet.”

“I-” Bucky ducks his head, ruffles his hair, “can’t actually.”

“Oh?”

“I’m meeting Mary Jane around sunset and I need to get home to clean up some before then.”

“Oh.” They’re right by Steve’s stoop now. He slows his steps to prolong the seconds he gets with Bucky, “Well, then I better not hear any stories about you tomorrow morning, trying to disrespect a lady.”

Bucky chuckles, something small and private that Steve hardly hears, “Never, not with you around Steve, you keep me honest.” He nudges Steve’s shoulder at that, a gentle tap in the humid air. 

*****

Steve wakes up late on his 17th birthday, the sun sliding through the wisps of curtains on the windows. Normally his Ma would have woken him up by now, dressed and ready to get to work. Steve pushes himself up on the cot and looks toward the kitchen where their clock sits and where he assumes his Ma is doing a pot of laundry. 

“Look whose finally up!” Bucky Barnes is sat at their small table for two. 

“Buck?”

“Happy Birthday Steve,” Bucky stands but doesn’t move towards the slim cot, feet glued to the floor.

“What’re you doing here?” Steve slurs a bit with sleep. 

“Asked your Ma if you could take a day off for your birthday. She let me in this morning on her way out. Figured I’d let you sleep in.”

“Thanks,” Steve wipes the sleep out of his eyes, can feel Bucky watching him from across the room, “Wait, what are you doing here?”

Bucky looks down at his feet, shrugs a shoulder, “Surprise? I thought— we don’t have to but I thought maybe, for your birthday, you’d want to...hang out with me?”

Steve musters up a slight glare for a joke, “Are you saying you’re my birthday present?”

Bucky looks stricken for a moment, “No, I’m not— no. I saved up a little and wanted to take you downtown to that museum.”

Steve perks up, “The Met? We’re going to the Met?”

Bucky nods, “If you want.”

“Of course I do!” Steve throws himself up out of bed, “Why’d you let me sleep so long?” Steve rushes to the small closet in his mother’s room where he keeps his clothes, pulls out his cleanest shirts and trousers while Bucky lets out a relieved laugh.

“Scared me for a second there Stevie,” Bucky’s right outside the closed door to the bedroom while Steve changes, “thought you were going to send me out on my ass.”

“Nah Buck,” Steve pulls the shirt over his head and opens the door as he does up the buttons, “I mean, if we were just hanging out around the neighborhood today, that’d still be a great birthday. The Met’s the icing on the cake.”

A grin breaks out across Bucky’s face while he nods, “You always say you want to see it. Oh-” Bucky turns back toward the little table, “Don’t want to forget, this is the present from your Ma. She said she wanted to make sure you had it before we went.”

In Bucky’s hands are two sharpened graphite pencils and a thick paged notebook, pages blank, “Wow. This is...” he runs his hands over the pages, the silk of the paper softer than any of the scraps he’s taken from school to doodle on. 

“She said to tell you to draw some of the things we see, so you can tell her about them later.”

Steve smiles up, “Thanks Bucky. Is Mr. O’Shea going to be mad you’re not in today?”

Bucky shakes his head, hands in his pockets, “Nah, I asked him a long time ago if I could take today off. He even gave me an extra dollar yesterday to make sure we’d have enough for the entrance fee.”

“He did?” There are waves of joy cresting and breaking in Steve’s head. “Then what are we waiting for?” 

“Don’t you want breakfast?”

Steve runs to the kitchen, cuts two slices of bread, hands one to Bucky, “Breakfast, now come on, let’s get out of here already.” Steve shoves his piece of bread in his mouth, grabs Bucky’s hand and yanks him out the door. With the look on Bucky’s face that Steve sees as they turn the corner down the stairwell, he’s not sure which of them is happier.

*****

Steve gets home late the night of his 17th birthday, exhausted from spending every minute he could in the Met. He sketches one of the grecian statues for his mother that she pins on the wall in the kitchen. He draws a cartoon version of one of the paintings, a large man who looks a bit like Mr.O’Shea, and it’s hung up behind the register at O’Shea’s. 

He draws Bucky in shining armor, based on the coats of arms they see in the weapons rooms. Steve draws a long sword at his side, no helmet, Bucky’s face calm atop the armor. It takes him a few weeks to get all of the details right. The next time Steve is in Bucky’s room, he sees the picture pinned to the wall next to Bucky’s bed. 

*****

On Bucky’s 19th birthday, his father buys him a bottle of scotch.

“Pace yourself Buck, try enjoying it.” Steve cautions when Bucky starts his third cup since the sun went down. 

They’re sitting on the fire escape outside Bucky and his brother’s room. After dinner with the Barnes’, they'd dashed out with two small cups and Bucky’s bottle. Steve is still only half-way through his first cup, wanting to keep his wits about him. 

“It’s fine Stevie, m’not drunk,” Bucky is relaxed against the stairwell while Steve is across from him, back against the railway. Bucky’s chin protrudes while the rest of his face is slack and...Steve takes a sip. It’s not often Bucky’s guard is down and Steve gets to observe him so openly from so close. 

“You will be if you keep going at this pace,” Steve kicks Bucky's toes a little bit, gets him to open his thunderstorm eyes. 

“Here then, don’t let me have anymore.” He hands Steve the bottle. Steve tucks it up on the window sill so it doesn’t fall down to the ground below. “Ya cold?”

Steve tries to say, “No.” but his teeth chatter the whole time. It’s not as cold as it usually is this part of January, a light layer of snow on the ground that won’t budge in the warmer weather, but his thin wool jacket isn’t cutting it. 

“Here,” Bucky takes off his coat, stands to drape it around Steve’s shoulders, and sits back down, “Don’t want to go in yet.”

Steve knows better than to fight him on his birthday, knows that for whatever reasons, it makes Bucky happy to do things for Steve, “Thanks, Buck.”

“Thanks for sitting with me, Steve.”

“Nowhere else I’d rather be.” Maybe it comes out too plain and too honest but Bucky doesn’t seem to notice. His head tilts back on the steps again, throat humming a jazzy tune while the people below mill about. They must all know something special is happening on the fire escape because the streets, for once, are quiet. 

Steve, not normally a masochist but the moment is too perfect for it not to be ruined, says, “Sorry I’m not Mary Jane. She’d probably be better company than me right now.”

Bucky snorts, “Doubt that. She hates me.”

Steve puzzles, “I thought you two were going out?”

“We were,” Bucky shrugs, “but then I took Elaine Carmichael dancing and Mary Jane won’t even look at me.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Hmm?” Bucky tilts his head up, brows furrowed.

“Just—Elaine’s pretty and all, but Mary Jane’s the most beautiful girl in the neighborhood. Why would you mess things up with her like that?”

Bucky leans forward, bum still firmly planted on the bottom step of the fire escape, “I don’t know Steve, they all blend together to me.” He rests his head in his hands.

Steve, taken aback, spits, “That’s not a very nice thing to say about nice girls like that.”

“No, no it’s not,” Bucky sighs, keeping his head up with his hand under his cheek, “But it’s the truth.”

“Why would you say something like that?”

Bucky, looking half asleep, murmurs, “They got nothing on my sweetheart.”

Steve stills, a gust of wind blowing through both layers of jackets. The perfect moment tilts on its head as he whispers back, “You didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend.”

Bucky frowns for a moment before his eyes pop open with a confused look on his face, “What? There’s no girlfriend.”

“Then who’re you talking about? Who’s your sweetheart if it’s not Mary Jane or Elaine?” Steve wraps Bucky’s coat tighter around himself, holding onto the warmth and pretending it’s coming straight from Bucky. 

Bucky jolts up, lightning hitting him mid-slumber, “I didn’t—there’s no one. It's not like that.” He runs a hand through his hair as he looks out to the street. Bites the corner of his lip and draws Steve’s eyes there. 

“What is it, you got a crush?” Bucky doesn’t immediately deny it, opens his mouth to say something and clamps it back down, “Joseph and Mary, Bucky Barnes has got a crush.”

“Leave it Steve.” Bucky gruffs.

“Hell no,” Steve grins, putting on his best friend mask, “I’m going to tell the whole neighborhood.”

“Steve-”

“I’m kidding Buck,” Steve bops his foot against Bucky’s again, leeches a little of the tension away, “I wouldn’t tell anyone. Who is it?” Steve’s voice cracks a bit but he pushes through, “I’ll do my best to help you out. Not sure how much help I can be though.”

Bucky snorts, weary smile on his face as he shakes his head, “Best if you drop it Steve.”

“You’re really not going to tell me?” Steve asks. 

“Nope.”

“Ok,” Steve pulls his knees in and hugs them to his chest, “Have your secrets then.”

Bucky watches Steve’s legs draw away and must understand Steve does it to hide. Bucky swings his big, warm body around until he’s shoulder to shoulder with Steve, a tight squeeze on the fire escape. 

“I don’t like keeping secrets from you,” Bucky whispers, body close enough that his breath wafts toward Steve and he feels it on his face, “I’d tell you if I could.”

“You can tell me anything,” Steve counters, “How bad could it be? Is it a girl who’s already going with someone? I’m sure if she knew how you felt, she’d drop her fella to be with you.”

“It’s not that.” Bucky picks at the blisters on the palm of his hand. 

“She a lot older?” Steve jokes, “Don’t tell me it’s my ma.”

Bucky gives a weak smile, turns his head, “No, not your Ma.”

Steve holds Bucky’s gaze and neither of them cares to drop it. A beat into their gaze, Steve realizes Bucky is looking at him with the same expression he uses to look at Bucky. Focused, eyes tracing the face, lingering over Steve’s eyebrows, his lips, the little mole near the base of his jaw, but always returning to the eyes. 

“Buck...it’s not—”

“Bucky! Steve!” Becca pokes her head out the window and almost topples the scotch, “Woah- are you drinking?!” Becca holds up the scotch bottle, “Steve and I are the same age- how come you wouldn’t share with me?!”

“Because,” Bucky’s still looking at Steve even though Steve had turned at Becca’s voice, “I like Steve a lot more than you.”

Steve’s stomach drops out of his body to the ground below followed by whatever emotional mask he’d been able to keep up. 

“Lame,” Becca puts the bottle down, “Steve, Ma says it’s getting late and your Ma is probably worried about you.”

“Thanks Becs,” Steve nods at her while she slips back in through the window. 

“I can walk you home,” Bucky murmurs.

“No, no, it’s your birthday, I’ll be fine,” Steve grins, sets a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, “Besides, you’re drunk enough that I’d be worried about you getting home on your own.”

Bucky deflates, the muscles coiling to stand up relax, “Oh.”

“I’ll,” Steve coughs and stands, “I’ll see you after school tomorrow. Happy Birthday Buck.”

Bucky, back to picking at his hands, nods towards his knees, “Thanks Steve. Good night.”

“Night Buck,” Steve takes the scotch and throws it on Bucky’s pillow along with his coat on his way out. 

Steve waves goodbye to the Barnes and accepts a piece of leftover cake to bring back to his mother. He bundles up in an extra scarf before stepping out onto the street. He hardly feels the cold on his walk home, heart beating fast with a new glow of warmth.

*****

Steve’s leaning against the bricks like usual when Bucky walks out of O’Shea’s. Steve sees the hesitancy in his actions when he looks towards Steve. Either the remnants of alcohol or something else has Bucky off his usual wave. 

“Hey Buck,” Steve says through his scarf. 

“Steve,” Bucky rushes to Steve’s side, “Wasn’t sure you were going to make it.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Steve asks. He has a plan, treading lightly, talking around whatever may or may not have happened on the fire escape last night. There’s still always the chance that the scotch created something out of nothing in his own head. 

Bucky shrugs, “Just cold is all. Surprised you haven’t come down with something yet.”

“Ma too, but I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“Yeah,” they fall into step, side by side as usual, “You get home ok last night?”

“Yep, made it in before the snow started to fall. Sorry it didn’t last long, I know that’s your favorite.”

“S’okay. I got to watch it come down before going to bed. We’ll have more before winter is over.”

Steve feels the shift, it’s as if they’re walking through sand or talking across a baseball field; there’s a distance he can’t account for between their bodies. 

Steve’s nothing if not risky. He sees an alley off to the side and with one moment of bravery, grabs Bucky’s elbow and pulls him into the shadows. 

“Hmm?” Bucky trips a bit over his feet trying to catch up, “What are you doing?”

Steve plants his feet, crosses his arms over his chest to try. A breath in and a breath out, “I wanted to ask about last night-”

“Steve,” Bucky’s voice is steel, teeth gritted, eyes down, “I won’t lie to you so don’t ask any questions that you don’t want to know the answer to.”

Steve softens his shoulders at the outburst, curls his hands in the ends of his scarf instead, “What if I want to know the truth?”

Bucky runs a shaking hand through his hair, “Jesus, you can never let anything go. I asked you to leave it.”

“I won’t,” Steve whispers at first but his voice grows in strength, “I won’t Buck. Who’s your sweetheart?”

Bucky lets out a quiet plea, shielding his face from Steve with his hand, “Don’t do this. Please.”

“You said you wouldn’t lie,” Steve takes a step forward, his chest only a few inches from Bucky’s now. He raises a hand to Bucky’s elbow, pulls the hand covering his face a few inches away so that Steve can see Bucky’s red-rimmed eyes, “Tell me the truth. Who were you talking about last night?”

With the eye contact, it’s obvious. Bucky’s face crumbles, “I’m so sorry Steve. I’m-” Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s waist, tucks his head under his chin. Let’s himself go soft and vulnerable like he can’t stand for anyone else but Bucky. “What are you doing?”

“I knew you weren’t bright Barnes, but figured you knew about hugs.” 

Bucky’s quiet for a moment, arms hovering over Steve. His voice is shaky when he speaks, “I’m not that stupid but you might have to explain what this hug means.”

Steve moves one of the hands on Bucky’s back around, dragging it along the wool of the coat, to rest over Bucky’s heart. He pushes off with that hand and looks up at Bucky’s downturned face, “It means that you’ve got a sweetheart.”

The change comes over Bucky’s face slowly. First his eyes go wide with shock, next his jaw drops. Steve can’t see the entire smile slide over Bucky’s face because he’s being pulled into the crook of Bucky’s neck. There are fingers under his hat, pushing through his hair and an arm pulling his shoulders in close. He takes advantage of the tension and leverages himself that much closer. 

Bucky runs his fingers through Steve’s hair until they jump a part when they hear a rattle behind them. It’s an alley cat, nothing to worry them, but instead of pulling him back in, Bucky fixes Steve’s hat on his head and steps back out into the dim light on the sidewalk.

“I should walk you home,” Bucky’s voice is soft, timid, shy, words no one but Steve could use to describe Bucky. 

“Thanks Buck,” Steve murmurs back. He falls into step beside Bucky. Neither says much on the walk home but their elbows brush every few steps which brings a smile to both their faces. 

*****

Steve expects the knock on the door to be the priest to perform last rites. He’s not that surprised when it’s Bucky.

“Oh Stevie,” he breathes, arms already open for Steve to hide his tear-stained face in Bucky’s chest. He hears the door shut and Bucky must lean up against it. Ma’s in bed, hasn’t been able to get out in days. They’re alone so Steve takes the moment to be weak.

“I didn’t think—” he hiccups around fresh tears, “she wasn’t supposed to die. She was going to get past it.”

“I know Sweetheart, I know,” Bucky breathes into Steve’s hair, “I thought so too.”

Steve’s nails must leave marks in Bucky’s back, little crescents that may still be there after his mother is gone.

“I don’t know what to do,” Steve’s voice is so soft he’s not sure how Bucky hears it.

“Can you let me take over thinking for a bit?” A week ago, the idea of someone else taking control would be the scariest thing in the world. Now, it’s a walk in the park compared to his reality.

“Please,” Steve whimpers.

“Right now, you’re going to cry your last tears. Then you’re going to sit next to your Ma until she’s gone. It’s going to be awful but you’re going to do it, you’ve got to do it, because you won’t forgive yourself if you don’t.” 

Steve nods, hanging onto Bucky’s soft cadence to give him strength, “I’ll be in here and you call me when you need me. I’ll take care of it from there, love.” He may say ‘it’ but Steve hears ‘you’ and knows it’s what Bucky meant anyways. 

Bucky runs a hand over Steve’s head, brushes his lips over his forehead, “I’ll let the priest in when he gets there. Now, dry your eyes,” he runs a thumb under Steve’s eyes, “and no matter what, don’t you dare think you’re alone.”

Steve nods his head, “Thanks Buck. I know.”

Bucky drops his hands from Steve with a sad grimace, “Tell her I love her too.”

“I will,” Steve agrees, squaring his shoulders, and turning towards the bedroom. 

At some point, the priest comes in. He performs the last rites. Sarah Rogers is gone before nightfall. 

Steve almost forgets- he sits there with his mother’s limp hand in his own and thinks he’s all alone in the world. No family to call his own. 

Luckily, Bucky pushes the door open and kneels next to the bed with Steve. Steve remembers. 

*****

They’re on the fire escape again when Bucky brings it up. 

“I’ve talked it over with my parents a few times so know that you are welcome to stay here as long as you need to-”

“I’ll figure something out. I just need a little bit more time.”

“You gotta let a guy finish his sentence Rogers. I did figure something out.” Bucky flicks the ash off a cigarette onto the ground below, blowing away from Steve’s direction, “if you’re ok with it, that is.”

“What do you mean Buck?”

The Barnes have already been far too generous to Steve these last few weeks since his Ma has passed. Steve technically has his apartment through the end of December but can’t bring himself to stay there. Just lighting the stove for a kettle makes him faint with grief. Bucky, while Steve had been letting him take the lead, had carried Steve’s cot the five blocks to their apartment and put it on the floor of his room. 

The first few nights, after Benjamin had fallen asleep, Bucky had crawled down into Steve’s bed and held him until he stopped trembling enough to get to sleep. 

“What I mean is,” Bucky begins, putting out the cigarette completely and scooting down a step so his hip is right next to Steve’s ankle. He loops a hand around the slim bone of Steve’s leg and sweeps his thumb up Steve’s sock under his trousers, “we could move in together.”

The small touches are all they get. They don’t talk about it, about what they really want from each other. They don’t put feelings to words or desires to actions. They are what they are, two best friends who put each other first. Bucky’s the daring one, slinging arms over Steve’s shoulders, running fingers down backs when he thinks they’re alone. The most Steve will do is lean into the touches, greedy.

Steve tilts his head, “you think we could swing that?”

“Yeah, I think we could,” Bucky nods, “with both of our salaries, we could find a small place nearby or, if you want, move back to your place.” Bucky bites his lip, “Thought you may want to keep home. Break Ms. McDougell’s heart if you moved out.” 

Steve, suddenly fidgety, sets his hand on Bucky’s knee, traces the edges, “What about your parents.”

“I’ll be twenty in a few months, it’s about time for me to get a place of my own. Besides, with Becca getting married, they can move Ben into the girl’s room and rent out the third bedroom if they need to.”

Bucky could come home from work, hands calloused. He could sit with Steve on the little ratty couch by the stove and tell Steve about his day. Steve could put his feet in Bucky’s lap and Bucky could call him sweetheart without worrying about anyone barging in. Steve could run a hand through Bucky’s hair, sweep it out of his eyes as he grins. 

“You’d really want to do that? Our apartment is a lot smaller and farther from the store.”

“Of course I’d want to do that Stevie,” Bucky’s fingers slip a little further up his leg, gently tugging his sock down so the pad of his index finger hits skin, “We can make it feel like home again. It’d make moving easier.” He adds with a lilt of his head. 

“Then yes, let’s do it.” He rests his hand down onto Bucky’s leg, squeezing gently before pulling his hand back into his lap. 

*****

“James Barnes, you get your dirty socks out of my drawer.” Steve swats Bucky upside the head as Bucky unloads his clothes into the recently vacated half of Steve’s closet and dresser. They’d sold his mother’s bed and frame (Steve could hardly look at the spot she died let alone sleep on it) and bought two bed frames for their cots and another night stand so they could each have one.

“Well, excuse me. How would you like me to arrange my clothes, Stevie?”

Mrs. Barnes peeks her head into the bedroom, “You two sure this is a good idea?” They all laugh because they all do know it’s a good idea, even if their definitions of good ideas are different, “We’ll get out of your hair. You’re both still expected for dinner on Sunday, don’t you forget.”

“Course not Ma, let me walk you out.”

“Bye Mrs. Barnes,” Steve waves and calls a little louder, “Bye Mr. Barnes!” he gets a returned goodbye as Bucky sees his parents out. 

Steve sighs. Bucky’s clothes are all tangled together in the duffle bag he brought. Steve pulls out and hangs up a few shirts before he feels eyes on him.

“Hey there,” Steve says, turning to Bucky. Bucky’s leaning against the bedroom door frame, arms crossed over his chest and eyes bright.

“I thought you weren’t going to do any of my chores because you are, quote, ‘not my wife or mother.’” 

“Still not, this doesn’t count as chores if you’re moving in.” Steve pulls out another shirt and hangs it, slowly buttoning each button. 

“They’re gone, door’s locked,” Bucky says plainly, like they both haven’t been thinking it these past few weeks as they’d been making arrangements—a place of their own. A place devoid of eyes and people and the world’s rules. The only rules that matter in this room are the rules they make. 

“So?”

“Steve, Sweetheart, come here.”

“How about you come over here-” Bucky falls against Steve’s back before he says the words, arms wrapping around his shoulders and nose tucking into his neck.

“You made a terrible mistake shacking up with me,” Bucky mumbles into Steve’s collar, “Won’t be able to keep my hands off you.”

Steve turns in his arms, one eyebrow raised, “Oh really?”

“I mean,” Bucky lets go, stumbling back, “Not like- I’m not trying to-”

“Shut it Buck, I’m kidding,” Steve steps back into Bucky’s space, a flash of bravery pushes his hand to Bucky’s face, let’s his fingers run over Bucky’s jaw, learning the skin there, “Can I?”

“Anything Steve- always anything,” Bucky breathes and Steve gets on his tiptoes to peck a kiss against Bucky’s lips. 

Bucky pulls Steve in by the waist, runs his nose against Steve’s, “Kiss me again.” Steve does and this time Bucky is ready, coaxing him with his lips to stay right where they are while the sun sets on their little place removed from the world.

*****

Steve leans against the bar. He waves at the bartender for two more beers and feels Bucky settle beside him. 

“Hey, you good?” Bucky questions and then leans back, putting a bit more space between them. 

“Yeah Buck, it’s fine,” He grabs the two bottles of beer when the bartender circles back and walks away before Bucky gets his drinks. 

Cindy and Mary Lou are back at the booth. Cindy’s a nice girl, sweet and shy with a smile you’ve got to work for. If Steve was looking for a wife, they’d be a good match. In a similar vein, Mary Lou, buxom and beautiful with sharp green eyes, would be the perfect wife for Bucky. 

“Thanks Steve,” Cindy takes the offered bottle. She doesn’t take a sip, waits for Steve to sit and offer his to toast. 

“To a nice night,” Steve clicks the glass against Cindy’s. He watches Mary Lou watch Bucky, her eyes like hawks watching Bucky swagger across the bar. Her smile changes from determined to wistful as he slides in next to her. 

“Here you go, Mary,” Bucky hands her the beer and throws his arm over the back of the seat. Steve fits right in the curve of that arm. With Bucky’s hand on his waist, he can fold right into Bucky’s elbow. Bucky always smells like Ivory soap, cigarette ash, and sweat even if he’s fresh out of the shower. 

“Thanks,” Mary Lou settles back into the crook of Bucky’s arm, heading resting on Steve’s spot. Mary Lou probably thinks Bucky’s giving it his all, with his coiffed hair and laissez-faire attitude, she thinks he’s playing hard to get. She doesn’t know that if he wants something, he can’t hide it. That if he wanted to touch her, he’d have wrapped his arm around her chest, run his thumb along her collarbone, whispered in her ear how much he wants her. 

Steve takes a heavy sip from the bottle. It’s hard, sitting across from his home personified while another woman tries to make it hers. He can’t blame her, Bucky’s a catch and, to everyone’s knowledge, a bachelor. Why shouldn’t she feel like the belle of the ball with his arms around her?

“James, can we go dance?” Mary Lou pleads, batting a hand on Bucky’s chest. 

“Sure thing Doll,” He steps back out of the booth. When Mary stands, he grabs her hand and spins her right there until she giggles. Bucky whisks her away into the throng while the jazz band starts up another tune. 

“Steve?” Cindy nudges his shoulder with her own, “you want to dance?”

“I would Cindy but I’ve got two left feet. Wouldn’t want to ruin your shoes.” He feels awful but he’d feel worse telling her yes and making her think they had a shot. 

“Oh, ok,” Cindy picks at the beer bottle with her thumb nail, “If you don’t mind, I’d still like to go dance.”

“Don’t mind at all,” Steve lets her out and slides back into the booth. She melts into the crowd of spinning skirts. 

Steve’s eyes wander, as they tend to do, in Bucky’s direction. James Buchanan Barnes has got a wide smile on his lips and a laugh spilling out as Mary Lou twirls around him. Steve’s finger nails dig into his knee as Mary Lou’s dig into Bucky's shoulder. 

This part is the worst. It’s not so much the jealousy— that was worse before Steve knew how Bucky felt. Now Steve knows where Bucky’s thoughts wander and it’s certainly not up Mary Lou’s dress. 

No, the worst part is seeing who Bucky was meant to be without Steve holding him back. Bucky could be out every night, a different girl on his shoulder at every bar or he could have his pick for a wife. As Mary Lou shuffles around in Bucky’s arms, he sees them on kitchen tile, her in an apron and him in a clean suit, maybe a kid or two darting between their feet. Steve can’t give Bucky that. He can’t give him a family, or a clean apartment on the respectable side of town. Steve’s not even sure how many years left he has to give Bucky. 

He must have turned away from the sight because Bucky’s back by the table, hand resting next to Steve’s, “Steve? You need to get home?”

“I said it’s fine Buck.”

“Yeah, you said that but you were lying,” he quickly flicks out a finger toward Steve’s hand, the barest touch in the crowded room, “can I tell the girls you’re not feeling well?”

Steve’s stubborn for a moment before nodding. 

They collect their hats and pay their tabs. The girls live in the same boarding house so Bucky walks ahead, Mary Lou on his arm, while Steve and Cindy keep a respectable distance between them. 

Steve apologizes,“Sorry to ruin the night Cindy.”

Cindy, the sweetest girl in Brooklyn, shakes her head, “You didn’t ruin anything Steve. Happens to the best of us.”

“Thanks for understanding.”

“I do feel bad for Mary Lou,” Cindy admits, “I know she’s been wanting to spend some more time with Bucky.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, she was really looking forward to their date tonight,” Cindy clasps her hands behind her back, “I know it’s not really my business but, well, she asked me to ask you if I had the chance. Do you think Bucky’s going to ask her to go with him soon?”

Steve’s throat dries, “Don’t know about that Cindy, we don’t talk about stuff like that.”

“Oh, ok,” they’re almost at the door but stop to give Bucky and Mary Lou the privacy to say goodbye. Mary Lou’s eyes are wide as she looks up at Bucky, waiting for a kiss that won’t come, “well thanks anyways Steve. You’re always good company. Hope you feel better.” She gives him a quick peck on the cheek, more friendly than anything, and heads to the stairs up to the door past Bucky and Mary Lou. 

Bucky extricates himself with a wave and a smirk, Mary Lou giggling after him. Bucky swings down the steps and heads to Steve, running a hand up Steve's shoulder in a way that looks friendly in the dim street lamps and pale moonlight, “Let’s get home.”

“Sure, Buck.” Steve marches in the right direction.

“Something wrong?”

Steve almost bites his tongue but has never been good at it, “You shouldn’t lead her on like that.”

“Who, Mary Lou? I’m not leading her on. She knows it’s nothing serious.”

“No, she doesn’t,” they turn down the familiar streets toward home, “Cindy asked me when you were going to ask her to be your girl. Said Mary Lou wanted to know.”

“Really?” Bucky turns to look at Steve’s face before sighing, “Damn, I’ll have to ask someone else to dance next time we’re out, won’t I?”

“Good luck. If she finds out, she’ll tell everyone you’re a scoundrel.”

Bucky smirks, “We both know the truth in that statement.” He winks, flirty and cute as if he’s not six foot tall with a boxer’s hook. 

Steve plods along, one foot in front of another, “Yeah. Yeah, I guess we do.”

His are the only footsteps for a moment before Bucky catches up, “What are you trying to say here Stevie?”

“Nothing much, was just thinking,” he clears his throat, “wouldn’t be too bad if you did go with Mary Lou.”

“Steve-”

“She said she’s making good with the seamstress work. Between that and your salary, could probably find a nice little place, fill it with a few Irish babies and make your Ma proud.”

“I’ve got other ways to make Ma proud, certainly not doing it by marrying Mary Lou O’Donnell.”

Steve pulls out his key, still a block from their apartment, “It’s a thought.”

Bucky grumbles next to Steve, “Wait until we get home.”

Steve swallows. Bucky wants to wait to talk until there’s a locked door between them and the world. He’s going to shower Steve with kindnesses he doesn’t deserve, press sweet words into Steve’s skin with the pads of his fingers, mouth, tongue. Bucky’ll be on the prowl as soon as the door is locked behind them. 

True to form, Steve is on his back on the couch with Bucky hovering over him not a second after the lock is clicked in place. Bucky has one of Steve’s cheeks in his hand and the other is wrapped around Steve’s thigh, pulling it in, “What was all that about out there?”

Steve can’t help but heat with Bucky’s hands on him, “Wanted to make sure you knew I wouldn’t be mad if you want to change your mind.”

“I’m not changing my mind about you unless you give me the boot yourself Stevie,” Bucky’s fingers sweep a pattern up the outside of Steve’s thigh, “You kicking me out Sweetheart?” 

“No, nothing like that Buck. I just- I wouldn’t blame you. We both know you deserve better than me.”

Bucky pulls back, face pulled taught, “Deserve? I deserve piss all. You’re what I want. That’s all that matters.”

Steve knots a hand in Bucky’s hair, leading his face close to Steve’s. Steve sighs, light this time, “I’ll remind you again in a few months and see if you’re still singing the same tune.”

“Only got one melody Sweetie,” Bucky drops a kiss along the hinge of Steve’s jaw, “I plan on singing it awhile longer.”

*****

Pearl Harbor is bombed. Steve and Bucky enlist the next day. They tell Bucky to pack his bags and be ready to go the first of the year. They tell Steve to find ways to help on the homefront. 

*****

“You got the extra pair of socks from your Ma?”

“Yeah Steve, I’ve got them.”

“What about the picture of your sisters?”

“Tucked away in the bottom of my bag with some of your drawings. Won’t let anything happen to those, promise,” Steve had stopped short, walking around their bedroom that afternoon, tidying up to distract himself. Bucky had had the drawing of himself in armor tacked to the wall above his bed since the day he moved in, four years ago now. Steve had forgotten what the wall looked like bare.

“Ok,” Steve nods now, curled up in the corner of the couch, Bucky’s hands split between Steve’s knee and a beer bottle, “Do you need anything else?”

He smirks, “You could cry when I leave tomorrow. Puff up my ego, knowing my sweetheart’s sad to see me go.”

Steve stills, pushes down the condensed anger before spitting out, “S’not funny Buck.”

Bucky pouts his lips, takes a swig of the bottle, “No, I guess not.”

Steve nabs Bucky’s hand and pulls it closer, reeling him in across the couch until they’re sharing a cushion. Bucky nods, recognizes it as an apology, or an acceptance of an apology. They’ve both wronged each other, yelled, hurt each other, like any couple does. They don’t keep score of the apologies anymore. 

“It’s only basic training,” Bucky nuzzles his chin on Steve’s knees, “They’ll send us home before sending us overseas.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“Steve.”

“I should be going with you.” Steve puts a hand in Bucky’s hair, scratches his scalp, “You don’t even like to fight.”

Bucky swallows, “Sure I do.”

“You hate it Darling, you’re too sweet. Couldn’t bear it if it wasn’t to protect someone you love.”

“I’ll be protecting you then,” Bucky lifts his head, “Whatever I’ve got to do, I’ll think about you here. No one’s taking New York without getting through me first.”

Steve sobers, rubs a thumb under Bucky’s eye. He leans forward, rests his head against Bucky’s forehead. His voice drops low, “You do whatever you have to to stay alive until I can get to you. I don’t care what it is, you just come back to me, you hear me James Barnes?”

“I hear you Steve,” Bucky’s arms pull Steve in close to him, “I hear you.”

Bucky falls asleep first, squished to the wall of his bed after dragging Steve into it for the night. Steve’s up on an elbow, will put his head back on Bucky’s shoulder when he’s ready to go to sleep but he’s awake now. Who can say how many seconds he’ll get to look at Bucky for the rest of his life? He’s going to take as many now as he can. He runs a fingertip down Bucky’s nose to remember the slope, gently traces his lips to mark the dip of his cupid’s bow. 

Steve will sleep when Bucky’s by his side again, but he’s going to take as much time now as he’s granted. 

*****

Bucky gets five days at home after training camp before he’s sent off. He spends the last night at his parents before he goes, hugs Steve goodbye on the street to make sure they actually let go. 

It doesn’t hit Steve nearly as hard this time- as Bucky leaves New York on a ship, Steve’s on a bus to Camp LeHigh.


	2. World War II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve follows Bucky into War. It's not what either of them expects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello- thank you for the kind words for the first chapter. Three notes for this chapter:
> 
> 1) I am adding the Cannon Typical Violence Tag. I am not someone who particularly likes graphic violence so I like to think it is mild but if you think I should tag this story differently, do let me know. 
> 
> 2) I have taken dialogue directly from one scene in CATFA, the scene where Steve is bringing the commandos together. I counted and it is 80 words of dialogue plus my own description of the scene. It is by no means the majority of this chapter but I did want to flag it as I am not trying to pass the work off as my own, I just really like that scene and wanted to include it as a lead into something else. 
> 
> 3) This is the chapter where Steve is a little out of character- I understand why some people might not agree with how I wrote Steve in this chapter. That's fine, there is a reason for it that comes in the final chapter. I do not think I've strayed outside any boundaries based on language and circumstances I've scene depicted in other WWII films.

“Buck- I mean, Barnes?” Steve calls Bucky after they’ve debriefed with the Colonel. Bucky has slipped quickly from his side, leaving Steve to catch up.

Bucky looks back over his shoulder, waits a beat for Steve to catch up, “Yeah?”

“I- it’s been so long. We should catch up,” Steve breathes, well aware of the bodies around him. 

Bucky glances down, trails his eyes up Steve’s body. Normally, that would have Steve blushing but there’s something about the look in his eye that doesn’t lend heat, “Yeah, okay.”

“Great,” Steve’s hands clench, “I’ve got a tent over there.”

Steve leads him to the secluded spot- it’d been put to the side because no one wanted to interact with him but it’s handy now. 

Once Bucky is inside the small tent, seated on Steve’s bunk, Steve shuts the drape behind him, “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” Bucky rests his head on his palms, elbows balanced on his knees, “Feel like I can’t trust my head.”

Steve pulls up a trunk- full of all his performance gear- and sits in front of Bucky, “The med team cleared you? Do you need me to get you medicine or something?”

Bucky tilts his head up, stares for a few beats into Steve’s eyes. It’s a harsh whisper, “Is it really you?”

Steve nods, throat choked up, “Yeah, it’s me Buck.” He puts his fist against Bucky’s knee and rubs his thumb along the bone’s edge.

Bucky shakes his head, “I keep thinking I’m dead. How on God’s green earth did you get to fucking Austria with 200 extra pounds on you? It doesn't make sense- you’ve got to be a hallucination or-or something.”

Steve shrugs, “It’s all science. You’d know more about it than I do. They injected me with something and then put me in this chamber and zapped me with energy. Five minutes later, I came out like this,” He gestures to the body. He’s waiting for Bucky to say something lecherous- it won’t feel like he’s ok until he makes Steve blush like a virgin. 

Bucky’s eyebrows furrow, pouts his lips, “That doesn’t explain Austria?”

“I was touring and overheard them talking about the 107th getting captured. They weren’t going to come after you. And, well,” Steve shrugs again, “You always came after me so I figured it was time to return the favor.” He adds a little grin at the end but Bucky looks even more devastated.

“It’s really you?” He takes a labored breath, “you’re really my Stevie?”

Steve’s eyes dart quick to the flap of the tent. Still secure, he risks it, leaning forward so that his mouth is close to Bucky’s ear. His hand comes up to caress Bucky’s cheek, “It’s me, Buck. I told you I’d come find you and I’d never break a promise.”

Bucky drops his forehead to Steve’s shoulder and Steve feels his uniform soak up a few tears, “This doesn’t make any sense.” Steve curls him in further, “I saw you in my head and all I wanted to do was say goodbye and then you were there- none of it makes sense.”

“I know, it doesn’t have to make sense right now,” Steve whispers, not sure who could be outside the tent, “remember when you took over for me? I let you make decisions for me when nothing made sense?” Bucky nods into Steve’s shoulder, “Can I make the decision for a little while? Until your head stops hurting? Can I do that for you Buck?”

Bucky pulls in a few wracking breaths—he’d been quiet and strong for the walk back to camp, poised in the debrief and account of his experience. He shakes now in Steve’s arms, the trauma catching up to him. Bucky nods again into Steve’s shoulder. A wave of relief washes over Steve.

“Thank you Buck,” Steve massages Bucky’s temple as much as he can at this angle, “First thing you’re going to do is take a nap. I’ll sit here and guard you until you wake up. After, we’ll get some food in you, clean you up. Tomorrow, they’re shipping us back to England where, if we’re lucky, you’ll get a nice warm bed to sleep in.”

Steve sends a silent prayer for a little sign that Bucky is ok even through everything. The opening for an easy innuendo lays out there between them. The seconds tick by and Bucky doesn’t say anything. Steve’s hands pull him in tighter for a squeeze before laying Bucky out on the cot, “Here, go to sleep. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Steve undoes the ties on Bucky’s boots, sets them up next to the bed. He moves the trunk closer to Bucky’s head, scritches his fingers through Bucky’s hair until he sees his shoulder’s relax into the cot, exhaustion finally taking over. 

When Bucky wakes up two hours later, Steve’s fingers are still in his hair, “Stevie?”

“Hey Buck,” Steve stretches the crick in his neck from watching Bucky breath.

“Where are we?” Bucky sits up, taking the surroundings in and noticing Steve’s size, “Oh.”

“Oh?”

Bucky throws on a weak smile, “Was hoping all of that was a bad dream. Well, everything about it but you Sweetheart.” Buck reaches a hand out to run across Steve’s jawline, "I can’t believe you’re really here.”

“I told you I’d find a way.”

“Shoulda know, stubborn Steve Rogers won’t let anything go,” the hand grips Steve’s neck, Bucky’s voice wavering when he says, “I missed you something awful Stevie.”

Steve tries to hold back the mirrored sentiment and fails, voice shaking even more than Bucky’s, “I know the feeling Buck,” they trade watery smiles and a quick embrace before heading out of the tent to find food. Steve knows they’ll be fine, now that they’ve got each other back. 

*****

They’re in the pub on the bottom floor of the hotel they got assigned while in London. Steve’s new team will be shipped back out in a few days. All the covert missions they can handle with intermittent stops back in London to catch up on new intel. 

Steve draws ads for a living back home- it feels like it’s been years when it’s only been a few months. 

The hotel only had so many open rooms. One of the staff had awkwardly asked if anyone would share and Steve thinks he gave a believable performance saying he and Bucky could manage it. They’d dropped their bags and headed down to the bar to meet up with the rest of the crew. 

After getting the sign-off from all the men he wants on his team of commandos, Steve sidles up next to Bucky at the bar. 

“See, told you.” Bucky calls over the lip of his glass of whiskey. “They’re all idiots.”

Steve grabs the stool next to him and grins, “How about you, ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?”

“Hell no,” Steve hearts stops beating for a second before Bucky continues with a smirk, “Little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb to know when to run away from a fight, I’m following him.” Bucky takes a sip and Steve warms at the words. Steve’s not expecting the pointed glance and the whispered, “you’re keeping the outfit right?”

It’s the first hint of an innuendo Steve’s gotten out of him so he plays along, “You know what, it’s kind of growing on me.”

Bucky’s opening his mouth around what Steve can only assume is something filthy when the bar goes quiet around them. 

Agent Carter in a stunning magenta dress saunters down the steps to the bar, “Captain.”

“Agent Carter,” Steve stands, shoulders back as she approaches. It’s obvious she and Bucky haven’t met yet because Bucky is floored by her as he spits out a startled, “Ma’am” as she passes by. 

She makes eye contact with Steve and holds it, “Howard has some new equipment he wants you to try.”

“Sounds good.”

“I see your top squad is prepping for duty.”

There’s something about her gaze- something that settles in his gut. It’s not like how Bucky has ever looked at him- Bucky is an open book, he’s sweet smiles and careful touches. There’s something all encompassing and blatantly desire in Agent Carter’s look that draws Steve’s attention. 

“You don’t like music?” he counters, falling into the language of banter though he’s never had much opportunity to learn it. 

“I do actually. I might, even, when this is all over, go dancing,” Steve’s trying to come up with a response that won’t be embarrassing when Bucky, much better at all this, chimes in.

“And what are we waiting for?”

Agent Carter’s focused gaze hasn’t left Steve, “The right partner.” She begins her walk away, both formal and sensual, “O eight hundred Captain.”

“Yes ma’am. I’ll be there.”

Bucky snaps his head to Steve once she’s out of earshot, “I’m invisible. I’m turning into you, this is a horrible dream.” He says it like a joke but Steve knows there’s something off about it. 

“Don't take it so hard,” Steve clasps a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, “Maybe she's got a friend.”

Not long after, they wave at the boy’s and tell them it’s because of exhaustion. Steve has never been less exhausted in his life, nor has he ever been more excited to have a door that locks. He clicks the lock closed behind them and leans against the door frame. 

“Walls are kind of thin,” Steve comments as Bucky shucks off his jacket. 

“That they are,” he drapes the jacket gently over a coat racket, “can’t be that much thinner than the walls at home though.”

Steve’s buzzing and Bucky’s an asshole who is tucking his shoes under one of the beds. Steve watches, drinks him in like he can in the privacy of this little room. No one to see how badly Steve missed Bucky. 

“You want to get comfy Sweetheart?” Bucky turns, arms crossed over his chest as Steve pushes off from the wall, unbuttoning his coat. Steve’s not nearly as neat as Bucky, tossing it on the other bed and quickly unlacing his boots. When he’s bent over one foot, Bucky sits on his mattress and reaches over to run his fingers through Steve’s hair and along his jawline, “God Steve. What did they do to you?”

Steve pops off the second boot before meeting Bucky’s eyes, “Hmm?”

“Just look at you. You’ve got muscles I’ve never heard of before.”

Steve tilts his head, “Do you- not like it?”

Bucky looks him over, gaze curious, “Of course I like it Steve, I like you however you are, it’s- well, it’s going to take some getting used to.” Bucky puts his hand on the back of Steve’s neck. He’s done it thousands of times before- every other time he had ever done it, his hand had more than covered Steve’s neck. This time, Bucky can’t reach his fingers around. 

There’s a moment- a fleeting glance- when Steve knows Bucky is lying, either to Steve or to himself. Steve, the little runt who could barely walk without passing out, never once doubted what he looked like with Bucky. Sure, the rest of the world made fun of him but Bucky was reverential with every touch. There was never a doubt in Steve’s mind about Bucky’s desire. Here, kneeling by Bucky’s feet with the body that he’d always dreamed of, it seems like the world and Bucky have switched roles.

“Buck,” Steve knees forward, slots himself in between Bucky’s thighs. Where once it was an easy, comforting place to be, Bucky has to stretch his legs wide to accommodate Steve’s torso. He can’t even rest his body against Bucky’s, there’s too much of it to lean forward. 

“Hey, no, Stevie,” Buck reacts to the tilted lines on Steve’s face, taking his thumb and trying to smooth out the worry, “Sweetheart, we’ll figure it all out. It’s no inconvenience on my part to learn your body all over again.” Bucky’s hand is rubbing up and down Steve’s arm, “wonder if this body likes the same things as the old one.”

“Same body,” Steve mumbles, “and it likes everything if you’re doing it.”

A light switch must click in Bucky at that because one moment he’s looking at Steve’s face and the next, both hands are in Steve’s hair and his lips are pressing against Steve’s. Steve easily complies, opening his mouth and sagging into Bucky, running his hands up Bucky’s sides. It is strange- touching Bucky used to feel like touching the Empire State Building- broad and wide and impossibly beautiful. Now, one of Steve’s hands almost spans Bucky’s back. 

When Bucky starts pulling on Steve’s shirt, Steve works from muscle memory and leans up, wrapping his legs around Bucky’s to straddle him on the bed. 

“Woah!” Steve must over shoot it because somehow, Bucky’s lying on his back with Steve sprawled on top of him, half of his body off the bed. 

“Sorry, wasn’t paying attention,” Steve tries to right himself over Bucky but finds that his knees don’t fit on the bed around Bucky’s thighs- his right knee doesn’t have any purchase on the edge of the bed. 

“Lie down,” Bucky tugs him down, Steve lying directly on top of Bucky, legs intertwined. He supports his weight over Bucky as he gently starts to kiss every inch of skin he can get his lips to. Bucky has different plans as his hands travel down Steve’s back and squeeze. 

Steve’s reaction to this is equal parts embarrassing, hilarious, and going to get them found out. He jerks so hard the bed almost collapses when he press down against the springs. 

Bucky bites his lip to not laugh out loud, “It hasn’t been that long, has it?”

“Apparently I can fall out of an airplane but have no discipline during sex.” Steve grumbles as he tries to readjust. At some point, he must grab onto Bucky’s arm and squeeze too tight because Bucky gives a muffled yelp, “Buck?” He drops Bucky’s arm and falls back down on top of him, all 250 pounds weighing Bucky into the mattress. 

“OK,” Bucky tightens his arms around Steve, “new plan. No more squirming. Get up.” Steve does so, scrambling out of the way as Bucky gets up too, “you’re super strong, help me.” 

Following Bucky’s lead, Steve helps him move the mattress onto the ground, “Now, you lay down first.”

Steve hesitates before following orders, dropping his head onto the pillow. Bucky pulls the blanket off the other mattress and settles down on top of Steve, legs intertwined like before except this time, Bucky’s mass settles easily over Steve and fills in the gaps. He wraps the second set of blankets around them and nuzzles in. 

“See, that’s better. We’re going to have to reverse somethings,” Bucky starts to tap on Steve’s chest, “better pillow here anyways.”

Steve mindlessly runs his fingers up Bucky’s back, feeling cold through the warmth of his partner surrounding him. This isn’t how they do things- when they sleep, Steve sleeps on Bucky’s chest. Right over his heart so he can hear it while he drifts off. 

“What’s going through your head,” Bucky asks, head over Steve’s heart. 

“We’re all settled in and didn’t take our trousers off,” Steve jokes back. Bucky looms over him to grin down at him before pushing off and up.

“Really funny wise guy.” He tugs his pants off before leaning down to undo Steve’s, “That’s not what you were thinking about.”

“It’s-,” Steve lifts his hips so Bucky can pull off his pants and then settle back in, “I thought this would be a good thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“I thought I’d have to carry around a bat to keep you off of me,” Steve says it. He means it. “I thought about all the different things we could try out now that you’re not afraid of squishing me.”

“Steve-”

“I didn’t know this would happen,” Steve whispers, “that you wouldn’t be able to hold me.”

“Sweetie,” Bucky sugarcoats his voice, “I can still hold you. I’ll always be able to hold you.” He wraps his arms around Steve’s shoulders, drapes his legs over Steve’s sides, “It’s like I said- it’s going to take awhile to adjust.”

Steve nods, “Sorry for killing the mood.”

“I’d rather cuddle up with you anyways,” Bucky mumbles into Steve’s neck, “don’t know how many opportunities we’ll get out there.” 

At that, Steve tightens his grip a little firmer. Six days ago, he thought he was going to lose Bucky. He thought Bucky would be lost in some POW camp, forgotten by the army and a ghost that Steve would always have with him. He turns his head so he can see Bucky’s forehead and the tip of his nose, resting on his chest. 

It rips out of him, “I love you.”

“Right back at you Sweetheart,” Bucky presses a kiss to the underside of Steve’s jawline before passing out on top of Steve. Steve doesn’t go to sleep for at least another hour, listening to Bucky’s breathing over him. 

*****

“Steve!” Steve can hear Bucky running to him. Steve can’t look because he’s crushing a nazi’s windpipe, “Hey, Steve stop!” Bucky struggles with Steve’s arm, pulling uselessly. 

Steve applies pressure for another moment before dropping the guy. 

“What Bucky?”

Dernier is tying up the nazi’s wrists behind them, “What do you mean what? The mission is to take as many of them alive as possible. We need their intel.”

Steve nods, runs a hand through his hair, “Yeah, yeah. Of course. Got carried away there.” The man had been aiming for Bucky, Steve got to him right before he could line up his shot. 

Bucky’s face pulls taut, looking at Steve as if he were a puzzle, “You ok?”

“Fine, Buck,” Steve runs off, deeper into the encampment to restrain more soldiers. 

*****

“Is that Captain America?!” It’s a squeal to their right. Two girls, a brunette and a blonde, with shiny curls and red lips. 

Bucky and Steve like to make an appearance at the USO bars when they’re in town for the good food and cheap drinks. It’s only their second trip back to London but Steve’s already been stopped a handful of times on the street and in the bar. 

“Hi Ladies,” Steve grins, trying to recreate Bucky’s charming smile. 

“We read all about you in the paper! You’re turning the tide of the war,” The brunette steps forward and puts a hand on Steve’s bicep. 

“Shucks, thanks for the compliment but I can’t take all of the credit. Meet my second in command, James Barnes,” Steve nudges Bucky in the arm, hoping it seems like the plea that it is. 

“We read about you too!” It’s the Blonde this time, “Is it true you were best friends since you were young?”

“Yep,” Bucky takes a sip of his beer, “What were we, twelve, thirteen when I saved you from Tommy Sanders?”

“You were thirteen, I was almost twelve.”

“We’ve been best friends since we were young too,” the Blonde insists, “practically diapers together.”

The brunette moves even further into Steve’s space, “We’d love to swap stories if you gentlemen wouldn’t mind walking us home?”

Steve’s beer is still half full and all he wants to do is practice cuddling with Bucky back in his room, “We’d love to, ladies, but we’ve got some obligations here.”

The girls' faces fall and Bucky sends Steve a confused look, “I think we’ve met those obligations, Captain,” he smiles at the girls, “We’re happy to walk you home and make sure you get there safe.”

“Thank you Sergeant Barnes! It’s not far, I promise,” The girl on Bucky’s arm drags him away and leaves Steve to follow after. 

*****

“We were going over these hills here- that’s where Steve saw the first snipers-” Bucky is pointing to a map and outlining a recent mission to Colonel Phillips, Agent Carter, and a few senior military officials. Steve senses the shift as Agent Carter tenses when Bucky calls Steve by his name. 

After the briefing, Steve pulls Bucky aside on the sidewalk, “Hey, I know you’re going to make fun of me for this, but you’ve got to call me Captain in briefings like that.”

Bucky splutters, shocked, “What?”

“It doesn't matter if it’s people we know but when we’ve got high levels of the brass in briefings,” Steve shrugs, “They like the formality. Peggy even tensed up and she doesn’t do that with a gun to her head.”

Bucky shakes his head, “Seriously Steve?”

“Buck, come on, you know stuff like that matters to people who care about the titles.”

Bucky starts walking away, “Yeah, like Agent Carter apparently.”

“That’s not fair,” Steve stays shoulder to shoulder with him, they don’t look at each other as they speak, “You know Peggy deals with all the bureaucracy that we don’t have to worry about in the field. She’s our friend.”

“Your friend,” Bucky retorts, “Doesn’t care a lick about me.”

“That’s not true.”

“She’s probably hoping the Germans get me so that she can have more of your time when you’re here.”

Steve’s jaw clicks, “Why would you say something like that?”

They’re stopped at a crosswalk. Bucky’s hands are in his pockets, eyes downcast and an unlit cigarette chewed in the corner of his mouth, “Forget it Steve. I’m sorry.”

Steve swallows but nods once, accepting the apology, “Where do you want to get lunch?”

*****

“-and then I hit two more. Puts me at five today, sixteen total for the mission.” Dugan counts off on his fingers his casualties from today’s firefight. 

“Pretty good there Dum Dum, but bet the Sarge beats you easily,” Jones is whittling something next to the fire and he points the knife at Bucky who’s cleaning his rifle.

“A girl doesn’t kiss and tell, same goes for a sniper,” Steve’s noticed Bucky normally begs off of the game. Hasn’t had the chance to ask why, but makes sure the others don’t push him into it. 

“I forgot the Sarge was no fun,” Dugan laughs, “What about you Cap?”

“Eleven today, twenty-eight total.”

Falsworth whistles, “Captain, you’re not allowed to join the betting pool next mission.”

The conversation switches but Steve watches Bucky sneak away under everyone’s nose. 

“I’ve got to take a leak- any volunteers for first watch?” Steve assigns the watches and heads toward Bucky’s tent at the edge of their close camp, “Buck?”

“Hey Stevie,” Bucky’s back is to him, on his knees, putting his rifle safely away next to his sleeping bag.

“Everything ok?” Steve places a hand on Buck’s back. Bucky tries to hide his face but Steve takes his chin and turns it toward him. The unshed tears are fairly obvious, “What’s the matter?”

Bucky swallows, blinks away the wet glint in his eyes, “Nothing.”

“Hey, no,” Steve settles next to Bucky on the ground, “come on Love, tell me.”

Bucky doesn't speak for a while, fiddling with the grip of the knife that he keeps on his thigh, “It really is nothing. I don’t like talking about all the killing sometimes.”

“Oh,” Steve’s surprised for a moment before it all makes sense, “Knew you were too sweet for war. Wish the United States Government would have agreed with me. Could have switched our 4F and 1A ratings if they could see inside our heads.”

Bucky shakes his head, “When they do that- when they talk about the people we kill like they’re numbers for some game- do you ever feel like maybe we’re the bullies now?”

The image of Bucky strapped to a table, alone, drugged out of his wits, passes in front of Steve’s eyes. He hears, for a moment, the whimpers Bucky makes in his sleep, the quiet nos uttered in the silence. 

“No,” Steve says, voice cold, “they’re not people Buck, they’re hydra.”

Bucky looks at Steve, that peculiar one he’s been giving Steve more and more lately. It’s one Steve’s not used to, not with open-book Bucky Barnes. 

Bucky opens his mouth to say something and Steve knows it’s not what tumbles out, “You should probably get back to the boys. Don’t want them wondering where you are.”

“You ok?” Steve gives him a quick squeeze to the thigh.

Bucky nods, slow, “It’s war Steve. I’m as ok as anyone can be.” He gives Steve a half smile before sending Steve on his way. 

*****

“Captain Rogers.”

“Agent Carter.” Steve sits up straighter at the bar. Steve assumes that it’s no coincidence she sat down as Bucky left for the bathroom. 

“Are you well?” Peggy takes a sip of whiskey after her question. Steve turns his chair to face her. 

“You’ve read my reports.”

“We both know reports don’t tell the full story,” She’s right- the reports don’t show the terror Steve feels whenever he sees Bucky’ in the midst of a brawl. Steve’s careful- no one could read between the lines how crucial Bucky is to Steve’s own sanity but they sure as hell know how important Bucky is to their military strategy. 

Steve sighs, “It’s war. I’m as well as anyone can be.”

“Agent Carter,” Bucky’s voice is tight, right behind them, “good to see you.”

“Sergeant.”

Steve spins around on the stool. Bucky forces his fists into his regulation jacket, fighting with the collar, “I’m going to call it a night. See you in the morning Steve.”

“Wait, Bucky?” Steve grabs his arm before he can dart away, “Let me finish this beer and I’ll head out with you.”

“Why don’t you and Agent Carter,” Bucky’s had a few beers but it doesn’t explain the way the spits Peggy’s name, “catch up.” Bucky steps toward the door, ripping his arm from Steve.

Steve glances at Peggy, an inviting gleam staring back at him, “I’m sorry Agent Carter.” Steve pulls out his wallet and throws enough money for them as well as her drink on the bar counter, “We’ll have to catch up another time.” Steve gives her a curt smile before rushing after Bucky. 

Steve catches up with Bucky marching down the next block, “Hey, what was that about?” 

“What do you think it was ‘bout Steve?”

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking you.”

Bucky scowls, “Fuck you Steve.” He turns down a back alley, weaving through the destruction of a recent bomb raid. 

Steve hangs back, keeps Bucky in his line of sight but gives him space. Bucky cottons on to it quickly, stopping behind a high tower of bricks and confronting Steve when he makes the turn, “Stop following me.” Bucky has his arms crossed over his chest, probably itching to shove Steve away.

“No.” Steve stands his ground, “Following you is what I’m good at.”

Bucky turns his head and Steve sees the genuine hurt in his profile, “Always been following me.” Bucky takes a sharp breath, “around Brooklyn, into the army. To fucking Austria.”

“Yeah Buck,” Steve’s hands are lax at his sides as he tries a step forward. Bucky still flinches back, “You and me. Tied at the hip.”

Bucky shakes his head, “Maybe life would have been easier if we weren’t.”

Steve ignores the pang in his gut, “Maybe, wouldn’t have been as fun though. Besides, you’d still be in Austria if I didn’t follow you.”

There’s that look again- that confusion, a wall keeping Steve from Bucky’s thoughts. Bucky drawls out, “You’re right Steve, why don’t you go back to the bar and regal Carter with your heroic tales.” Bucky turns, sliding away as Steve’s jaw drops.

“Peggy?” Steve jogs to catch up, “This is about Peggy? Come on Buck, you know that’s not fair.”

“Why not?” Bucky calls over his shoulder.

“You’re the flirt!” Steve says a few steps behind, “You always had a girl on your arm.”

Bucky spins around again, “I didn’t like any of them. They were to protect us. And you were with me everytime I walked someone home- you saw every moment I spent with them.”

Steve waves his arms around in front of him, trying to make Bucky see, “So? How is that different.”

Bucky’s mask starts to crack, the tight corners of his lips drift down. It takes him a moment of looking at his boots before he meets Steve’s gaze, “You were smiling at her.”

“Buck, I’m trying to understand, I really am but I don’t-”

“When I came back, you were smiling at her the way you used to smile at me.”

Steve lets the words hang in the air while he looks at Bucky. Almost all of the defiance has bled out of his shoulders. This posture, the hands, the hips, the tilt of his neck- it’s something Steve’s never seen on Bucky before: uncertainty. 

Steve murmurs, “I still smile like that at you. All the time.”

Bucky nods, picks at a scab on his elbow, “Sure you do. You smile like that at everyone now. Agent Carter, the commandos, the cameras.” Bucky shrugs, “I’m not special anymore.”

Steve’s face draws together, “Of course you are.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

Steve tips his head back, “God Bucky, are you seriously jealous?”

With that, a storm takes over Bucky’s placid features, “No I’m not fucking jealous! I’m fucking hurt, fucking pissed that you did this. You changed!” Bucky’s voice cracks. He pivots away, runs both hands through his hair while Steve watches his back. 

“People change.”

“People don’t become Super Soldiers.”

“What did you want me to do?” Steve steps forward now, aggression rising, “Say no? They offered me a chance to be who I’ve always wanted to be, how do you turn that down?”

“It’s not even…” Bucky’ voice gets quiet, turns his head back a bit so Steve gets a shot of his profile again, “It’s not your body Steve, it’s you. You’ve changed. You’re not Steve Rogers anymore, you’re Captain America.”

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, “It’s the same thing, I’m Steve Rogers and Captain America. They picked me specifically for this, because they wanted my brain to have this strength.” 

Bucky scoffs, “Do you hear yourself? Steve Rogers would never say that.”

Steve throws up his arms, “He would because I said it and I’m Steve Rogers.”

“No you’re not, you’re Captain America,” Bucky advances, index finger pointing as he encroaches on Steve’s space, “Steve Rogers wears his heart on his sleeve. He believes in right and wrong.” Bucky’s eyes are dark as his voice rings in the alleyway, Steve stepping back with every step forward until he’s pressed against the wall, “He’s respectful, always puts other people’s feelings and safety before his own. Steven Grant Rogers,” Bucky points at his own chest, eyes slits and throat hoarse, “my Stevie, would never laugh while standing next to a man he had killed.”

“I haven’t-”

“You fucking have Steve. I’ve watched you sing along with the others as you looted bodies for ammunition.” Bucky takes a step back, “I watch you sometimes and I think you must be a robot- that they took your face and the part of your brain that made you love me and stuck it in new skin.”

Steve’s frozen against the wall- watching Bucky’s vulnerabilities slip out. 

Bucky paces a bit, slow, picking the scab on his elbow. His lips twitch before he asks plainly, “Did you even think about talking to me first?”

Steve makes sure he knows the truth before he answers, “No. No, I didn’t.” 

Bucky nods, eyes on his scuffed boots. 

“I-” Steve starts and takes it back and starts again, “I can’t be sorry for doing it. I can be sorry for the hurt but I can’t be sorry for making the choice. We’ve done so much good. I’ve done so much good- I saved you when no one else would have. I can’t regret that. Because of- because of this, the war will be over in a few months and we can go back to the apartment and be ourselves again.”

Bucky bites his lip before letting a puff of air out, the cold making it look like a drag off a cigarette. He smirks but there’s nothing funny about it, “You didn’t realize, did you?”

“Realize what?”

“They’re never letting you come back to Brooklyn.” Bucky looks up, takes in the confusion on Steve’s face and shakes his head, “God Sweetheart, you’re so smart yet so dumb.”

Steve shakes out of his surprise, “What are you talking about?”

Bucky turns to face him fully, the first time without any anger, “You think they’re going to let you come back with me? Hide their only super soldier in a one bedroom apartment in the Irish quarter?” He shakes his head, “They’re going to use you for the rest of your goddamned life. They’re not going to let your best buddy tag along for the ride.” Bucky glances away before meeting Steve’s eyes again, this time there is a tear track down his face, “It’s the opposite Sweetie, the second the war is over, it’s a nail in the coffin for us.”

“They won’t- I won’t let them.” Steve chokes out.

Bucky shakes his head, “There’s nothing we can do about it.” His shoulders are tense, “Why do you think it’s been so hard for me? Before Austria, I had a sweetheart back at home, safe and sound. You might as well have written me a Dear John. I have no reason to fight anymore, nothing waiting back at home for me worth living for.” 

Steve wants to hold him. He wants to tuck himself under Bucky’s chin, listen to his heart, trace the veins in his bicep, wake up from the nightmare the war has been. He can’t.

Bucky speaks first, “I’m going to walk home. Alone. You should go back to the bar, try to catch Agent Carter before she leaves. She’s the type of woman they’ll want you to marry.”

Steve’s so choked up it takes him a few tries to get Bucky’s receding back’s attention, “I wouldn’t have done it. I don’t- I wouldn’t have done it if I knew-”

Bucky turns his head, grins, “Yeah, yeah you would have Steve. Above all else you believe in the greater good over what’s good for you. Still- thank you for saying it.” Bucky swallows, “Night Sweetheart.”

Steve’s back slides down the wall. He tips his head back to look up at the stars, knees tucked in tight. It’s one of the very few silver linings of war- no light pollution at night to try and hide the city means the stars are vibrant above him. 

Steve doesn’t know how long he sits there trying to come up with a plan that will get him back to Brooklyn. He wakes up when the sun starts to rise, covered in dirt, with some ideas to flesh out before he tells Bucky. 

He ends up not needing them- Bucky falls off the train four days later and Steve nosedives the Valkyrie two months after that. 


	3. 21st Century

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky find each other in the modern day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and for the lovely comments/kudos! Only note for this chapter is that I am not a mental health professional by any means so nothing in this chapter about recovery should be taken seriously.

Steve adjusts his tie once more. He shifts his feet and the wood beneath them creaks. The porch must have been built a while ago even though it’s well maintained. He rings the doorbell. 

It’s taken him five months to make this visit, four months to even ask Shield for the address. 

Steve is barely holding it together when, unbelievably, Becca Barnes wrenches the door open. She’s frail but walking, bifocals slipping off her nose and her auburn hair turned gray and sparse on her hair, “Wondering if you’d visit before I croaked.”

“I didn’t even know people could live to 94 until they told me you were still alive.” 

“Only reason I’m still alive is because God wants me to slap your stupid face for flying into an ocean.”

Steve bends a few feet and offers his face to slap. She gives him a pat on the temple. Steve waits a moment, “Guess it’s your time now.”

They stare for a moment before Becca’s smile unfurls, “Anyone ever tell you that mouth was going to get you in trouble Rogers.”

“Think you told me a few thousand times Becs,” 

“Come here,” she holds her arms open and he scoops her up as gently as possible, cradling her, “Okay, okay, put me down so I can make some tea.”

It’s a lovely afternoon. Becca sits in a rocking chair near the window while Steve sits back in an armchair that she says was her late husband’s, “Spent an extra $300 so the legs would extend and it broke a month after we got it.” She hands him photo albums and talks through all the weddings, birthdays, anniversaries. Claire and Shannon, her sisters, passed in January of ‘72 and September of ‘83, both from cancer, and Ben, the baby Barnes, passed the year before from a heart attack. Steve swears he sees Bucky in one of the photos and it ends up being Becca’s second oldest, James Steven Barnes. 

“You,” Steve’s finger hovers next to his face, “You named him after me too?”

Becca preens, “As far as I’m concerned, the war took two of my brothers.” She rests a veiny hand against his wrist and squeezes as much as she can.

She tells the entire Barnes family story, starting with the day they got the telegram that Bucky had died, “Ma didn’t eat anything for a week. We eventually made Ben feed her like a baby to remind her she had another son.” The day the news about Steve’s death hit the papers, “they didn’t even notify us first. You would think, one of the greatest heroes of the war, they would have sent us something before the papers but no! Found out when Mr. O’Shea got the papers in and ran to our house to see if we were ok.”

She walks him through it all, stopping to cough intermittently but always picking up where she left, “And after all that moping and carry on and preserving your legacy,” Becca had been on the board of the Captain America’s Legacy exhibit at the Smithsonian, “it takes you five months to give me a call?”

“Sorry Becs,” he traces the rim of his tea cup, “first month was adjusting, second was dealing with the battle of New York, and the last three, well.” He can’t put it into words.

She nods, “I know. When Harry passed, it was so busy, paperwork here and there, people always around. Then it quieted and everyone else had moved on and I couldn’t. You can’t. Feels like you’re not remembering them right if you’re not completely crushed. You feel guilty every time you laugh.”

Steve swallows hard, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I listened once,” Becca says, a quiet smile on her face, “when you were out on the fire escape. Honest, I was a little jealous you liked Bucky more than me. It didn’t make sense to me at the time. When they sent home his things, thank god I grabbed his journal before anyone else. Filled with your letters and sketches. I put two and two togehter.” Steve curls in on himself and Becca tuts at him, “I don’t care Steve. Or, more, I do. I always wished I had a friend like he had you. I won’t pretend I wasn’t confused at first and I hid everything out of shame but I’ve learned. What you two had back then is fine now.”

Steve nods, “Thank you for keeping it to yourself. I wouldn’t want him to be remembered that way.”

“You may not, but I bet he would,” Becca muses over her tea, “better than the Irish lothario who had a gift with a sniper rifle.”

Steve nods again, “Does it,” he coughs, “Does it ever get easier?”

She takes her time mulling it over, “Yes and no. Sometimes I can forget for a few hours. I don’t beat myself up anymore for forgetting but it sure is awful when you remember again. And I’ve got twelve years under my belt.”

“It’s been seven months,” Steve stares at Bucky’s medals laid out on the coffee table, “For everyone else, it’s been years and they talk like it’s so long ago when it’s only been seven months.”

Becca laces their fingers together while soft jazz swirls in the background. 

He gets to spend Thanksgiving and Christmas with the Barnes/O’Grady/Clements families before Becca Barnes O’Grady passes in May 2013. 

*****

Steve is pouring himself a cup of tea when a bottle of liquor is placed next to his mug, “Add some of this. It’ll make it better.”

He’s proud he doesn’t flinch when he turns to Natasha, “How’d you get in here?”

She quirks a brow at him, “Really?”

He accepts the non-answer, “I thought you said you were heading back to New York today.”

“I did say that,” she smirks, “hand me a mug, will ya?”

He gets out one of his set. They’re pale blue with a scalloped lip. A month after the battle of New York and a day after Tony’s first visit to Steve’s DC apartment, one of Tony’s many assistants showed up with a company credit card and a van. Everything in his apartment is from Target but at least he got to pick it all out. 

“Good tea,” Natasha takes the mug and the bottle and sits in Steve’s arm chair, slipping out of her shoes and crossing her legs, back straight as she sips. After a few mouthfuls, she pops open the bottle, Steve assumes it’s vodka based on the color and the cyrllic letters on the label, and pours a dash in her tea. She holds it out to Steve, raised in a question.

“Just a little,” he offers his mug out for a top off before dropping into the sofa.

The news is on in the background, a gentle lull as they sip. Steve doesn’t pick up on any of the words, head in another time. 

“You going to tell me what’s going on?” Natasha asks, voice even and at the same decibel as the TV. 

“Nothing’s going on.”

“You’ve been distracted the last few days.” Natasha watches the screen as she talks,“Forgetting things. I’m not the only one who’s noticed.”

“But you’re the one they elected to do the intervention.”

“Something like that.”

“It’s fine. I’ll be fine in a few days.”

“January 19th perhaps,” Steve snaps his head towards her, her posture still straight as a board, “Or is the grieving going to last through to the 25th?”

He has to take three breaths before he can speak, “Why bother even asking.”

Nat’s chin dips at that, “I’m your friend, Steve.”

Steve snorts and tips his head back on the sofa, “End of January. Give me until the end of January.”

He catches her nod out of the corner of his eye, “Anniversary of death is always harder for me than the birthday. You?”

Steve’s lips pucker. He bites them for a second, holds in as much as he can but the thready timber of his voice must give it away, “I don’t know. This is the first time for me.” He hardly gets the last word out before he has to dig his thumb and fore finger into his tear ducts.

It’s eerily still- Steve’s convinced Natasha might have left- when the couch next to him dips, “I knew that. I don’t know why I said that.”

“Because you wanted me to cry. You want me to cry or do something to help me heal and get over this but it’s not something you can get over.”

“No, no you won’t,” Natasha sets a hand on his forearm, “but you can learn from the pain.”

Steve takes his fingers away, let’s the anger run freely, “Learn what? How to be alone? How to not look for him everywhere? How to replay the same moment in my head millions of times and never figure out how to save him?”

“Steve,” her hand moves up to his shoulder, “hey, I get it. I’ve lost more people than I’d like to admit to the field-”

“I was in love with him,” he doesn’t say it for the right reasons- he says it because he’s angry she’s here and making him talk about it and he wants to wipe the placid understanding off her face, “they tell the story like Peggy and I were jumping at the bit for each other but people got together during the war. If I had wanted to, I could have. I didn’t.”

“You were,” her head is tipped to the side, “in love with Sergeant Barnes?”

He pulls himself up to perch on the end of the couch. Her hand slides off his shoulder, “Didn’t prepare for that, did you?”

“Hey, Steve, look at me,” he looks. The carefully manicured expression is replaced with something real, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“No one did,” Steve’s fingers start to twitch, “wasn’t exactly popular to be PC back then.”

She doesn’t say anything, puts her hand back on him, rubbing gentle circles on his shoulder. He allows it. 

“Now you get it,” he mutters.

“What-” her mouth is a gape, it’s the first time he’s seen Natasha unraveled, “I know this isn’t the place or time but I have so many questions.” She takes a swig from her mug.

“Shoot. I don’t mind talking about it. Him.”

“When did you know?”

“Young. I must have been fifteen or sixteen when I realized.”

“He was your best friend?”

“Yeah, that part of the story is true.”

“Did you ever tell him?” Steve doesn’t know where it comes from but a huge roar of laughter erupts out of him, “What? What did I say?”

“Yes, sorry. I told him every day.” Steve clarifies, “He loved me too.”

Her mug hits the coffee table with a clink, “In the 1940s, you lived with your best friend who you were secretly having a homosexual relationship with, who you chased into war, saved from a nazi war camp and then became remembered as one of the most well regarded strategic duo in World War Two after you both tragically gave your lives to protect your country. Is that what you are telling me? ”

Steve tilts his head, mulls it over, “Sounds about right.”

Natasha’s jaw clicks shut. She hefts herself so she can reach to grab the vodka. She nabs Steve’s mug, takes a long draw to almost drain the cup, and then fills it.

She hands him the mug, “Tell me everything.”

So Steve does. He makes his way through two mugs of vodka as he tells Natasha every little detail about Bucky. 

….

“I took to war like a polar bear to snow but he was never cut out for it.”

“Steve. He was one of the best snipers of the Second World War.”

“He would breathe a second longer than the others before every shot. When other people would fire to hit, Bucky would fire to kill. He didn’t want them to suffer long and he didn’t want them to hurt anyone on our side. Wasn’t enough to nick them, he had to put them down with one shot.”

…. 

“Who admitted their feelings first?” 

“I guess him but I forced it out of him. It was his 19th Birthday, he was drunk, a little too free with his words. I’ve stormed military bases alone and there’s never been anything more terrifying or exhilarating than that moment. He called me Sweetheart.” 

“Sweetheart?” 

“Yeah, Sweetheart, Sweetie. Sometimes something else. If we were alone, he would pile on the pet names.” 

“Romantic.” 

“Yes. He befriended the florist on our block so she’d give him the flowers before she threw them out. He’d bring me wilted daisies and roses. Or fruit, just-past-ripe berries and peaches. ‘Sweet things for his Sweetie’ he used to say.”

...

“It’s not every night anymore. It used to be every night. How do you get that out of your head? I’m the reason the love of my life is dead.” 

“Steve, you’re not.”

“I could have been a second quicker, or grabbed him before he went out the side. I could have told him to sit back on the mountain with the others, let me take this one alone-” 

“Hydra killed Bucky. Hydra did this. Not you.”

....

The sun rises the next morning and Steve wakes to a crick in his neck from sleeping on the couch. Natasha’s curled up in the armchair, finger on the trigger of a glock even when she sleeps. She stirs when Steve sits up.

It takes them a minute to really wake up, neither of them can get hungover but they’re on the edge of that boundary. After a quick cat stretch, Natasha holsters the weapon, “Steve?”

“Hmm?”

“Have you been to your exhibit yet?”

“No.”

“Want to go today? For Bucky’s birthday?”

Steve stares out the window, sees the top of the Capitol Building from his window. It’s about to snow.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

*****

Steve chokes out water as he starts to come to. A souped-up aircraft carrier just landed on top of him so he’s not sure how he can breathe. He turns to lie on his back and sees the gun.

“Wha-”

“It worked.” Bucky’s voice is gruff but it’s still his.

“Buck?” Steve’s vision swims but Bucky blocks out the sun, hovering dressed in black above Steve. 

“It worked.”

“What worked?” He sees Bucky’s finger on the trigger, sees the shaking of his hand.

“I can’t kill you.”

*****

“Let me in,” Steve’s eyes are laser-focused on the door.

“We can’t Captain,” the guard says, he and the other guard have their forearms pressed against Steve’s chest, holding him back. 

“Let me-”

“Steve,” it’s Natasha’s voice. She’s at the next door down the hall, one door after the cell they have Bucky kept in. 

Steve takes a deep breath before pivoting and marching down the hall toward her, “I need to get in there Nat.”

“Not yet,” Natasha holds this door open for him, follows him, “He’s sleeping.”

In this room, there’s a one way mirror taking up almost the entirety of the wall to Steve’s right with a bay of computers and controls along the outer wall. There are a few chairs, Maria Hill sits in one with a few other SHIELD agents monitoring the next room. 

Steve walks up to the mirror, watches Bucky’s relaxed face for thirty seconds, “He’s not sleeping.”

“His heart rate-”

“He’s not sleeping,” Steve cuts off any doubt headed his way, “I know what he looks like when he sleeps. He’s not sleeping.”

Natasha is at his elbow, “He’s not the same guy you knew in the 40’s Steve.”

“Yes he is,” Steve’s arms are crossed and he has fingernails digging into the palms of each fist.

“He’s the Winter Soldier,” Natasha continues, “he’s an elite Russian, and Hydra, assassin. We’ve got a file on him that reads like a ghost story.”

“It’s Bucky- he didn’t kill me.” 

Natasha pauses, “Why?”

“Why?”

“He had plenty of time and opportunities. We didn’t find you until over an hour after the helicarrier fell. Why didn’t he kill you?” She purses her lips, waiting for Steve’s answer.

Steve swallows, “I don’t know. He said ‘it worked, I can’t kill you.’”

“He definitely said can’t? Not won’t?”

“Yes,” Steve turns his attention back to the mirror, watching Bucky’s performance, “You took his arm?”

“We had to,” it’s Maria, making her presence and authority known, “We wouldn’t be able to contain him with that thing attached to him.” She steps up to the glass and mimics Steve’s stance, “He gave it up easy though.”

Steve furrows his brows, “He did?”

“Yeah,” Her gaze stays on Bucky, “We would never have found the release mechanism if he hadn’t done it himself. Left it next to the door and sat on his cot while a team retrieved it. He’s been sleeping ever since.”

“He’s not sleeping.”

“Fine, he’s been lying there with a steady, low heart rate and even heavy breathing ever since.” She turns, props a shoulder against the mirror, “It’s definitely Barnes?”

“Yes.”

She whistles, “That’s a mind-fuck.” She pats Steve’s arm once gently, “You can go see him if you want. I won’t send anyone else in there though, not until I know he won’t hurt them.”

Steve nods once, “I’ll go talk to him.”

Natasha grabs his attention, “You sure that’s a good idea?”

“No.” Steve turns on his heels and stomps toward the door. He hears Maria give the order to let him in on her earpiece. This time, the guards don’t argue, they unbolt the door. 

Once Steve is inside, they re-bolt the door behind him. He leans against the door right next to the door jam, watches Bucky for a second, “I know you’re not asleep.”

“Get out.” Bucky’s lips barely move. Steve is transported to the few days when Steve would wake up before Bucky, prodding Bucky awake with careful pecks and touches while Bucky pretended to sleep through it. Bucky would snatch Steve and put him firmly underneath him, contain Steve until he thought it was a reasonable hour. 

The happy memory makes Steve brave, “Are you hurt at all?”

“Get out.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Buck.”

It’s all quick- one moment Bucky is lying down and the next, Steve is staring into Bucky’s eyes as Bucky’s forearm chokes him. 

“Do not call me that,” The once adoring eyes are icey.

Steve tries to remain calm, doesn’t fight back. He stares back at Bucky, meets the challenge of eye contact head on. Steve knows that his body can go for a while without oxygen and while it’s not ideal, it’s the silver lining of having Bucky close.

Just as quickly, Bucky pushes away and sits on his cot. His one hand grips the mattress frame underneath and his eyes stare straight ahead. He’s breathing heavily, “Get out.”

Not one cell in Steve’s body wants to leave the room but he relents. He doesn’t say anything as the door is unbolted behind him. He steps back into the corridor, eyes lingering. 

*****

Steve starts day two of Bucky’s captivity by stopping at Sam’s apartment. 

“I know I have no right to ask you for more help-”

“What are you talking about? The last time you asked me to help we unveiled a conspiracy within a national security agency- I love helping you! What do you need this time?”

Steve explains on the way to Northern Virginia and the facility where they’re keeping Bucky. 

“You felt it necessary to bring a guest, Captain?” Natasha asks, sat at the helm of the control panels.

“Didn’t think you’d still be here,” Steve walks up to the glass, “How is he today?”

“Good,” Natasha steps up beside him to talk in hushed tones, “He’s eaten two meals since you left last night. They’ve been sent in through the slot in the bottom and he’s said thank you both times. Actually slept during the night for a few hours, faked the rest of it.” Natasha flicks her eyes to Sam, “Why’d you bring Birdman?”

“You know my name and you know I saved your ass less than 48 hours ago.” Sam rounds out the peanut gallery and settles on Natasha’s other side. 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a hero. Still doesn't explain why you’re here.”

“Sam works at the VA. He helps Vets grow accustomed to civilian life.” Steve explains.

Natasha hums, “If you wanted to try to psychoanalyze him, we could have gotten a qualified psychologist out here.”

Steve’s fingertips have somehow ended up on the glass, “I’m not trusting too many people right now.” Steve takes a step back. “I’m going in. Give me an earpiece or something so you can tell me what to do.”

They set him up with an ear piece and Sam at a microphone, watching. Steve takes the same route as yesterday, walks past the guards and through the door. His foot’s not all the way in before Bucky speaks, “Get out.”

“I just want to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Buck-”

“No!” Much like yesterday, Bucky is holding on tightly to the bars of his bed and looking away from Steve as he yells, “You can’t call me that! Get out!”

Steve steps back out into the hallway before they can even bolt the door behind him. The guards lock the door again. They try not to watch as he rests his forehead against the wall to compose himself. 

“What am I doing wrong?” Steve asks as he slams open the control room door. 

“If those files are right, he’s processing a lot of trauma Steve. Give him a break,” Sam says. 

“Yeah, it’s only the second-” Natasha is interrupted by Bucky standing next to his cot, arm lax at his side.

“If you want to talk, send someone else.” Bucky’s voice is measured but he’s breathing heavily again. After his declaration, he sits back on his cot, folding his legs up to cross. He rests his hand on his knee and stares through the mirror.

“What?” Steve can’t process this- Bucky being alive he accepted in a heartbeat but Bucky wanting to talk to someone besides him? Impossible.

“I’ll go in,” Natasha says.

“No,” Sam stands, “No offense but you smell like danger. He needs to feel safe and unthreatened. I’ll go in.”

Natasha leans toward Sam, “you realize he’s a world class assassin right?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“He tried to strangle Steve yesterday and you’ll be fine?”

“Nat,” Steve cuts off the stand-off, “Sam knows what he’s doing.”

Natasha huffs, “Fine, if he wants to die, he’s welcome to.” She sits back down at the controls while Steve hands the earpiece to Sam. 

“Hey,” Steve puts a hand on Sam’s bicep, “Thank you.”

Sam smiles and does a short salute before heading out of the room. 

Steve grabs a chair, pushes it right up against the glass. He sits on it backward, watching Bucky from as close as he can get. 

Bucky’s hair is long, his spine straight. It’s the same chin, same eyelashes. He’s bulked up but Steve can still see the poetry in his joints and dirt under his fingernails. It’s surreal- being so close and so far. As much as he’s being warned that between the ears it isn’t Bucky, Steve knows it’s still his man. 

The door unbolts. Bucky doesn’t move. 

“Can I come in?” Sam asks. 

“Yes,” Bucky agrees. 

Sam steps through the door, bolting behind him. There are no other seats in the room so Sam stands again the door much like Steve had yesterday, “Thank you.”

Bucky nods, “What do you want to know?”

Sam thinks for a moment, “What would you like me to call you?”

Bucky barely flinches. He takes a breath, lets it out, “James.”

Steve can’t move.

“James, ok, nice to meet you James,” Sam’s shoulders settle down his back, “My name is Sam. Do you remember me?”

“Yes.”

Sam is picking his words carefully, “Do you believe me when I say I don’t want to hurt you?”

“Yes.”

“Good, that’s good. Thank you for telling me your name.” Sam pauses there in case Bucky wants to offer anything to the conversation. “Do you know where you are?”

“Secure facility in Fairfax County Virginia.”

“Right. What do you remember? About yesterday or anything else.”

This takes longer for Bucky to respond. His hand shifts from his knee to around his waist as he thinks, “I remember fighting you. I remember being on the bridge and seeing- him.” A shudder passes through Bucky’s body. “My name. It’s Sgt. James Buchanan Barnes.”

“That’s good James. We think,” Sam gentles, “that your brain is healing itself. You’re going to start remembering more, and quickly, if we’re right.”

Bucky nods, his voice is soft, “I can feel it.”

“That’s great James. Our only goal here is to help you heal.”

“And decommission me.”

No one says anything. Sam’s jaw clicks. Steve’s heart has stopped. He stands but Natasha is up pushing him down into his chair again before he can move.

“We’re not going to hurt you James.”

“No. You are going to decommission me.”

“Why would we do that.”

“I belong to Hydra. You don’t know my programming. I’m no use to you beyond information. Once you have that, I will no longer serve a purpose.”

“James,” Sam takes a step closer and sits back on his heels, getting eye level with Bucky, “You do serve a purpose. You’re an incredibly important person in US history. We want to help you.”

“No you don’t. You want to stop me.”

“We want you to be you, whatever that may mean for you,” Sam’s voice is measured and calm, “No one will be hurting you. Do you remember Steve? Steve Rogers?”

Steve’s fingertips are on the glass again as he watches the moods shift over Bucky’s face. First, a touch of softness, followed by stricken pain and finally some form of acceptance. He has to open his mouth twice to get out a feeble, “Yes.”

Sam grins, “Well, he’s on the other side of this wall and he won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Bucky’s tender face shuts down, angles sharpening and lips clenching, “Steve is dead.”

Steve practically hears Natasha’s eyebrows raise. She doesn’t stop him when he stands this time. 

“No, James, Steve’s alive. He was in here before me, remember that?”

“That’s not Steve,” Bucky spits, “that’s Captain America.”

Steve has both hands flat against the glass, watching Bucky’s face contort in pain.

Sam seems to be picking up on something that Steve doesn’t see because he questions, “Are they not the same person?”

“No,” Bucky continues, “They killed Steve so they could have the Captain.”

“Who is they?”

“The Americans,” Bucky continues, voice steady, as Steve’s heart cracks, “when Hydra turned me into this, your government took Stevie and used his face so that I wouldn’t be able to stop your best weapon.”

“That’s why you stayed by Captain America’s side after the Potomac?”

Bucky’s shivering, hand clawing into his shirt, his voice cracking, “I can’t kill Stevie. I can’t.” He’s no longer paying attention to Sam, stuck in his head.

Steve barks, “turn up the heat in there.”

“Sir, it’s at the standard-”

“Do you think I give a shit?” Steve claws into the metal wrapping around the mirror, “turn it up. He’s cold.”

“Do it,” It’s Natasha. She sets her hand on Steve’s shoulder blade as he rests his forehead against the glass, watching Bucky as Bucky starts rattling off Hydra safe houses. Steve hadn’t heard Sam make the pivot, can only hear the catch in Bucky’s voice when he had said Steve’s name. 

“Steve,” Natasha pulls Steve away from the glass, “sit down.”

“He doesn’t think I’m me,” Steve swallows, “That’s why-”

“Steve, look at your hand,” Steve listens to her, looking down at his hand making an imprint in the metal holding the mirror secure, “Sit down. Breathe.”

Instead of sitting back in the chair, Steve plops down onto the ground, leaning his back against the wall right below the frame and curling his knees up. He almost hugs them, like he used to in their crappy apartment to stay warm, but stops short before the reflex can follow through. Natasha sits down next to him, space between them but not enough that he feels alone. 

Steve’s hands rest on his bent knees. “Do you think they told him that or did he come up with that on his own?”

“They told him,” Natasha says and Steve glances her way, “Knowing how they operate, they needed to give him something to motivate him to follow orders, even with all the damage they did.”

Steve picks a spot on the ground to stare at, “He said something like that to me once. Few days before he fell, ‘you’re not Steve Rogers anymore. You’re Captain America.’” 

“You didn’t do any of this to him.”

“I didn’t look for him Nat,” The only reason Steve doesn’t cry is because there are two other SHIELD Agents in the room, “I was so- so fucked up after he fell. The commandos looked, said no one could have survived it, and I believed it. I didn’t think-”

Natasha slaps him. Not hard but enough to get his attention, “You can pity yourself later. This doesn't help him now. It’s done, it happened,” Steve’s eyes are wide as he watches Natasha’s face, “The only thing that matters right now is that he’s on the other side of the wall and he needs you. Stop thinking about yourself.”

Steve’s still processing when Sam steps back in the control room, “Steve Rogers, you and I need to have a long talk.”

*****

Steve’s able to put off Sam’s questions until they’re in the car driving back into the city later that day. 

“So,” Sam tilts his body to watch Steve form the passenger seat, “How about them Nats?”

“If you want to talk, talk Sam.”

“When exactly were you going to tell me who Bucky was to you?”

“It’s not like I’m used to telling people about it.”

“Still, you didn’t think ‘hmm, this information would probably help my good buddy Sam before he risks his life in a room with the world’s deadliest assassin.”

“He wouldn’t have hurt you.”

“He hurt you.”

“Now we know why,” Steve takes a left sharper than he intended.

Sam doesn’t ask another question until Steve’s merged onto 66, “Tell me about it.”

“It?”

“Your relationship. Or him, I don’t care. It’s just,” Sam rubs his fingers over his upper lip, eyes out the window, “I’m in this now. I want to help him, not because of you, because he’s hurting. Maybe knowing more about him will help me get through.”

“You’re going to try to help him get back his memories?”

Sam makes eye contact, shakes his head, “No, he doesn’t need my help with that. I’m going to help him live with himself once they all come back.”

Steve’s bottom jaw shakes. He takes a breath, “He loves apples.”

*****

On day three, Sam walks into the cell with a bag of apples. The’d stopped at Wegmans on the way in, grabbing Gala’s, Macintosh, Fuji, Empire, everything besides the red delicious.

“Why not those ones?” Sam had asked.

“We didn’t pay much attention to the types of apple back then, all I know is he liked the fat, greener ones.”

“I’ll grab some Granny Smith then.”

Steve, now, takes his spot in front of the mirror, arms already crossed in preparation to guard him from whatever horrors they uncover today about the last 70 years of Bucky’s life. 

“Morning James,” Sam says as he walks in the door, “Feeling well this morning?”

“Yes, thank you.” Bucky still hasn’t made direct eye contact with Sam, much like the day before.

“Let’s see if I can make the morning even better,” Sam had brought in a chair with him, pulls it up next to the cot. He waits a moment to see if Bucky will react before sitting down, “I had a hunch that you might like these.” Sam sets the canvas bag on the ground, opens it so the contents are obvious, and slides it to the spot on the ground that Bucky is staring at.

Steve’s eyes don’t leave Bucky’s face. Bucky blinks once- then again, before reaching his hand out to grab one of the mac’s, “Apples?”

“Hmhm,” Sam hums, “Birdie told me they were your favorite.”

Bucky rotates the apple in his hand, rubs his thumb along the bottom dip. In a move that Steve has watched Bucky do hundreds of times, Bucky rubs the apple against his shirt and bites into the top of the apple, right near the stem.

“Why’s he eating it like that?” Nat murmurs.

“He-” Steve coughs the frog out of his throat, “He likes eating them from the top down.”

“Did I get it right?” Sam asks, leaning back in the chair. 

Bucky nods his head once before going in for another bite. His words twinged with relief, he says a quiet, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Sam pauses, “How’s your head this morning?”

Bucky stops mid-bite, “I’ve remembered two more targets and five more active operatives.”

“We can talk about that later. Anything else?” Sam nudges, “Anything about your life before Hydra?”

It’s a long pause, Bucky takes a few more bites from his apple, “Yes.”

“Ok. You don’t have to tell me anything but I’m here.”

The apple core snaps in Bucky’s hand. He looks surprised, staring at the bits of pulp all over his hand. Sam stands and grabs him some toilet paper from the toilet in the corner. Bucky doesn’t look up as Sam grabs the apple core pieces from Bucky, wipes some of the juice away. Sam pulls another apple out of the bag, a fuji, “Try this one. I don’t think they had them back in your day but I think you’ll like it.”

Bucky gives it a more thorough inspection before wiping and taking another hunk out of the top, “I can remember his face, every detail, except the color of his eyes.”

“Steve’s face?”

Bucky seems to shrink with no perceptible motion, “Yes. Stevie.”

“Stevie?”

“Stevie,” Bucky starts spinning the apple in his hand, fidgeting, “I’d call him Stevie or,” he takes a breath and on the exhale, “Sweetheart.”

“That sounds like a good memory.”

Bucky nods, “He- he’d blush. Sometimes. Not after we’d been living together for a while but, in the beginning, I’d call him Sweetheart and he’d turn pink.” Bucky doesn’t smile as he talks, almost as if the words are being ripped from him.

Sam sits forward now. He grabs one of the apples for himself. Takes a few bites while Bucky eats at his new apple. “Does it feel good to remember him? Or does it hurt?”

“Both.”

Nat’s right next to him, “Steve.”

“No,” Steve blinks a tear from his eye, “Nope, it’s about him now. Helping him.” 

Natasha loops an arm around his back.

*****

On Day Four, Sam hops in the car and Steve hands him a bag.

“What’s this?” Sam looks inside, “Oh.”

“I found it in one of his sister’s photo albums a few months back. Had someone restore and add color.”

“Let me guess, your bedside table?”

Steve keeps his eyes on the road, “No, on my bookcase. But there’s another one on my bedside table. I’ve got to keep one for myself.”

Sam smirks up at Steve, “This is perfect.”

An hour later, Steve and Natasha stand watch at the mirror. Maria is back to monitor the situation, sitting at the control panel. Sam walks into the room with the Trader Joe’s bag Steve had pulled out of his recycling last night.

“Morning James.”

To everyone’s surprise, Bucky looks up at Sam when he walks in. He wears a small grin on his face, “Good morning Sam.”

“How are you doing? Sleep well?”

Bucky maintains eye contact as Sam drags the chair over to the cot and sits, “I did. I feel-” Bucky shifts, “I feel like a person today.”

Steve almost runs out of the room at that- screw patience- but he catches himself, not wanting to miss even a second of Bucky’s recovery. 

“That is fantastic news James.”

Bucky’s eyes dart down to the paper bag, “Did you bring more apples?”

Sam laughs, “No, something else. I’ll give it to you later. I can bring more apples tomorrow though?”

“Yes please.”

“Anything else I can get you?”

Bucky- leaning back against the wall while sitting on the cot today, rather than sitting at full attention- mulls it over, “I’d like to cut my hair.”

Sam nods, “Let me talk to the others. Do you understand why that might be difficult?”

“Yes, I understand,” Bucky shifts, “If you can’t bring in any blades, could I have something to tie it back with?”

“That should be much easier. I’ll get you some hair ties.”

“Can they-” Bucky cuts himself off. He disengages from Sam, head turning back down to the spot on the ground he had found the day before. 

Sam waits for Bucky to finish his thought, “Can they what James?”

Bucky’s fingers grip his knee, “Everything in here is white.”

Steve grips his bicep hard enough to leave a bruise. He’s an idiot, how come he didn’t think of it sooner?

Sam grins, “I’ll bring a rainbow of hair ties.” He reaches down for the bag, “Speaking of colors, were you able to remember Steve’s eye color?”

Bucky curls even further into himself, arm wrapping around his waist and fingers tangling with his tank top. It’s defeated, “No.”

“I think I can help with that,” Sam pulls out the picture frame. Natasha quirks her head to glance at Steve before looking back. Even Maria joins them at the mirror to watch. 

Bucky gently comes back into himself, glances at the frame briefly before zeroing in on it, “How?”

“Your sister, Rebecca, kept all of your family pictures.”

Sam’s still holding the frame, clear in Bucky’s line of sight. Bucky’s eyes jump to him before darting back to the frame, “Can I touch it?”

“You can have it. It’s a gift.”

Bucky rips the frame from Sam, cradles the frame in his lap, eyes glued to the glass. 

“What is it?” Natasha asks. 

“Picture of us on my 21st birthday,” It had been after the fireworks had gone off and the whiskey had run dry, sending the majority of the few people they had over packing. Becca had stayed, sitting in a beat up armchair they’d saved up for and fiddling with the new camera her parents had bought for her birthday a few weeks prior. She had told them to smile.

Steve’s focus shifts back to Bucky when Bucky lets out a muffled whine. It’s not a sound Steve has ever heard Bucky make before and he presses his hands to the glass, watching. 

“James?” Sam’s on the edge of his seat, leaning towards the cot. Bucky’s shuttering now, tremors going up his arms as he focuses on the photo. His long hair is a curtain blocking Steve’s view.

The words stutter out, “He’s so beautiful.”

Sam nods, “He is. You were a beautiful couple.”

Bucky shakes his head, “He deserved better.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Look at him,” Bucky tilts the photo without his eyes ever really leaving it, “He didn’t deserve what happened to him.”

“Neither did you.”

“I did bad things before they took me,” Bucky’s whispering, microphones barely picking him, “He said, ‘whatever it takes to get back to me’ so I did things. That’s why they chose me.”

Sam doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, watches Bucky. He clears his throat at one point. “James. Tomorrow, I want to talk about the war. Would that be okay with you?” Bucky nods, “Okay. I’m going to go out now. I’ll be back in a little while. You need me before I come back, you ask, alright?” Bucky nods again as Sam makes his way to the door. 

Steve hears Sam and Maria discussing the closest place to get hair ties but he keeps his eyes on Bucky. 

Bucky lays the photo down in his lap. A trembling finger comes up to stroke the glass, where Steve knows the image of himself is stretched out on their ratty sofa, shoulder overlapping with Bucky’s. Bucky mutters, “I’m so sorry Sweetheart.”

“Make sure there are a lot of blue ones,” Steve chimes in to the conversation behind him, “He likes blue best.”

*****

On Day six, Sam spills coffee all over himself getting out of the car, “Shit.”

“You would think someone who can fly would know how to walk.”

“Very funny asshole. You have an extra shirt?”

“Yeah, I’ll grab it.”

An hour later, while describing an assignment they had in Italy, Bucky stops mid-sentence.

“James? Everything ok?”

Bucky is staring at Sam. He takes a deep breath before reaching his arm out to hook around Sam’s neck. 

Maria radios the guard outside, “Prepare-”

Natasha slashes her arm at Maria, “Stop. Look.”

They all do. Bucky is smelling Sam. His armpit specifically. 

“Hey, James, I can tell you the brand of my cologne if you want it but I would appreciate a little personal space.”

Bucky lets go as quickly as he had taken hold. He sits back on the blue bedspread Steve had brought yesterday with more fresh fruit and another photo of them. Bucky’s hair is pulled back in a sky blue scrunchie so Steve sees every twitch of his face, “Is Steve alive?”

An unsteady silence, something they’ve grown used to, falls again. They wait for Sam to respond before moving, “Why do you think that?”

“Your shirt,” Bucky is rubbing his thumb over his knee, “It smells like him.” The thumb picks up pace, “Is it him? Do you know him?”

Sam is a statue opposite Bucky’s fidgeting, “Yes. Yes I do.”

Bucky’s eyes widen and he starts to nod, almost reflexively, to himself. It turns into gentle rocking, “Ok. Ok. Steve is alive.”

“Say what you’re thinking James.”

“You hid him from me. And I’m angry. And hurt. But,” Bucky swallows, eyes focused on his hand on his knee, “It’s for the best. He shouldn’t know about me. If he’s alive. His heart is weak. He’s almost 100. Not good to risk it. Safer for him to not see me. Especially if he has a family. He is probably happy with them. Did he marry Cindy? They always got on. She’d take care of him. Someone did. How did Stevie live to a hundred? Without his face? They must have been wrong, he wouldn’t have been able to survive them taking his face. And he’s alive-”

“Yes,” Sam rests his hand over Bucky’s hand, radiates pressure to pause the fingers, “he’s alive. He’s not married, he does have a lot of friends who take care of him.” Bucky looks up to meet Sam’s eyes, “We weren’t hiding him from you, we wanted to make sure you were in a good place before we talked about it. And he knows you’re here.”

Bucky looks stricken a moment, “His heart?”

“Working smoothly, especially once he found out you were still alive.” Sam smiles, sits back in the chair.

“Are you one of his friends? Who watches out for him?”

“Yes,” Sam glances toward the mirror, “Not always easy to do but an honor all the same.”

It’s like a punch to the gut when Steve sees the bright smile, the first real one Bucky has shown since he’s been in here. Bucky lowers his voice, “That’s definitely my Stevie.”

Bucky pulls his legs up on the cot, wraps his arm around them. It’s the same way Steve would sit in the corner of their couch while he drew. Bucky would come home from work, wrap his hands around Steve’s ankle and pull him flat to the couch, Steve hollering the entire time. Bucky would shut him up with a kiss and snuggle down on top of him. Steve’s hands shake at the idea of doing that to Bucky right now.

“What about his other sicknesses? How are his lungs? His asthma?” Bucky asks, tucked into himself. 

“Twenty first century has better medicine than the last one. He’s in top shape,” Sam tells him. 

“Does he want to see me?”

“Yes,” Sam tells him flat, “Have to hold him back to keep him from coming here every day.”

The grin hasn’t left Bucky’s face, “Can you tell him something for me?”

Sam nods, “I can, or you can tell him yourself.”

“I can?”

“We’re doing this on your terms James,” Sam says, reaching into his back pocket, “He’s ready to talk to you when you’re ready to talk to him. See,” Sam holds up the phone, “I’ve got his number here. We can call him right now.”

Bucky fidgets a minute more before nodding twice sharply, “Please.”

Before Sam hits the button, Natasha is by Steve’s side, “Be careful. He’s still healing.”

“I know,” Steve’s phone starts to hum in his pants. He pulls it out, looks at the screen for a beat too long before sliding to answer, “Hello?”

“Hey, Steve,” Sam has the phone on speaker in the cell. Bucky’s even more tucked in on himself, he has his duvet piled over his feet and tucked around him, “Do you have a minute to talk?”

“Of course Sam,” Steve is shaking trying to keep the quiver out of his voice, “what’s up?”

“I’m here with James. He wanted to give you a call.”

Steve watches Bucky on the other side of the glass. He doesn’t move besides a few twitches of his mouth. It looks like he’s frozen so Steve tries to crack the moment, “Buck? You there?”

Tears start welling at the side of Bucky’s eyes. His voice is so quiet when he answers, “Steve.”

Steve rests his forehead against the glass, threads his free hand through his hair, “Hey Buck. How are you feeling?”

Bucky’s face melts. He sits forward on the cot, as close to the phone as he can get, “you’re alive.”

“Yeah, Buck, I am.”

“How are you still alive?”

“I-” Steve stutters for words, “I grew out of my issues. Fit as a fiddle now. I want to know how you are. I’ve been worried sick.”

Bucky starts shaking his head, “Don’t worry about me. Don’t get sick because of me.”

“I won’t, I won’t,” Steve soothes, “but please Buck, talk to me.”

Bucky swallows. He doesn’t seem to totally realize when Sam hands him the phone so he can hold it closer to his face, “I’m getting there. I’m not- I’m not all myself yet but I remember more every day. I remember more of you.” Bucky’s shoulders start to loosen and Steve takes a huge breath in. 

“That’s so great Buck.”

“I know Sam. He says he’s one of your friends.”

“One of the best. He’s helping you?”

Bucky glances up at Sam, “Yes. A lot.”

“Good.” Steve can’t hold it back anymore. There’s only a small crack in the words, “I miss you.”

Bucky closes his eyes. His words are a little more watery, “I miss you so much Stevie. I thought you were dead.”

“I thought the same about you Buck,” Steve lays his hand flat against the mirror, “If I had known, I would have ripped the world apart looking for you.” 

Bucky’s voice is only a few decibels, “I love you.”

“I love you too, you have no idea. It’s been terrible without you.” He feels Natasha’s hand on it’s familiar place on his back, sharing as much of the pain as she can.

“Did you ever-” Bucky sniffs, “Did you ever get married? Have a family?”

“No,” Steve shakes his head even though Bucky can’t see him, “Couldn’t do that without you.”

“You coulda.”

“No, no, I couldn’t have.”

Neither of them talk for a few minutes, listening to the other breathe. Steve watches Bucky, his eyes closed and chin tipped back against the wall. 

Natasha pats his back, rousing Steve from the moment. He meets her eyes, and she communicates completely non-verbally that he should end the call. 

“Hey Buck?”

“Yeah Stevie?”

He almost loses the courage then and there but knows he’s got to stop, “I’ve got to go now but talking to you today is the best thing that’s happened to me since finding out you were alive. You can call me at anytime, ok?”

Bucky on the cot opens his eyes, lips pouted, “Ok.”

“Bye Buck.”

“Bye Stevie.”

Steve sits down head in his hands, “Maria?”

“Yeah Cap?”

“He needs a phone. I don’t care what you have to do to it- make it so it can only call me or whatever- just get him a phone.”

“Already put a request in,” Her voice is steady, softer than her bravado would usually allow, “Should be here in ten minutes. He’ll be able to call your and Sam’s cells.”

Steve swallows, “Thank you.”

“No problem Cap.”

*****

Sam brings Bucky the phone and a bar of chocolate right before they leave that day.

“I can’t take credit here. These are both presents from Steve,” Sam hands them over, “you know how to use a phone right?”

“Yes.” It’s a flip phone, from a time when Steve was still under the ice. 

“Both Steve and mine’s number are in there. Call any time, either of us. We’ll pick up. And this,” Sam hands Bucky the candy, “Is a hershey’s bar.”

Bucky lights up, “I know what chocolate is Sam.”

Sam throws his hands up, “I don’t know! The way Steve talks about it, the only thing you ever ate was bread and potatoes.”

“We would save up,” Bucky starts to tear the plastic, “For little things. We had an old coffee can. Put in change until we had enough to go to Coney Island or buy a nice cut of meat. Steve used to sneak some of it to buy chocolate bars.” Bucky breaks off a square, “He always did it for me. Never liked it much himself but knew I’d only eat half a bar if he ate the other.” Bucky pops the square into his mouth and lets it melt on his tongue, humming while Steve preens from behind the glass. 

“No need to ration, I can bring a shopping cart full of chocolate bars tomorrow if you want. Some of the combinations they’ve got this day are crazy, we can try a bunch if you want.”

“No,” Bucky grins down at the phone, “This is good. Thanks Sam.”

“I mean it, call anytime you want to,” Sam squeezes his shoulder and heads out of the room. They don’t bolt it anymore- just locked. If Bucky really wanted to leave, he could easily do so. Everyone knows, even Bucky, but no one cares much at this point.

“Ready Cap?” Sam’s in the doorway of the control room, backpack already slung over his shoulder. 

“Yeah, coming,” He watches Bucky eat another square of chocolate, “You have time to run by the grocery store on the way home?”

“If you’re buying dinner along the way I do.” 

Steve shakes his head but the only thing he can feel is sheer joy, “I’d buy you pretty much anything you want after what you did today.”

Sam smiles, squeezes Steve’s shoulder much in the same way he had squeezed Bucky’s a few minutes before, “Of course man.”

“I’m serious Sam,” Steve pauses in the hall, “you have no idea how much talking to him again meant to me. Hearing him say my name-” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, tries to hold it together but Sam is already bringing him in for a hug. 

“I know man, I know,” Sam pats Steve back before pulling away, “His brain is healing quickly, much faster than I was expecting.”

“Me too. He remembers so much. I didn’t even know he knew I skimmed off our stash.”

“I do want to warn you,” they make a turn in the hall, “I think he’s remembering things either chronologically or he’s remembering the positive memories first.”

“But he’s had more Hydra intel every day.”

“Let me rephrase. I think he’s only allowing himself to remember the good things. He sees the information as a good thing because he thought up until today it was the only thing we wanted from him. He remembers you because he loves you. He hasn’t remembered any of his deployment from before you saved him and he hasn’t touched on the trauma we know happened while he was with Hydra, and there’s bound to be a lot that we don’t know.”

Steve feels cold all over, “Oh, Buck.”

Sam nods, “Everyday he seems more and more, I don’t know, I hope it’s him becoming more himself. But with what he’s gone through, there is going to be a bounce back. That’s not going to be easy to watch him go through.”

They reach the car. Steve unlocks it, “Do you have any books you would recommend I read? To be ready?”

“I’ll text you a few names.” The click in the seat belts and Steve has barely pulled away when his car’s display shows an incoming call. 

“Bucky?” Steve answers immediately. 

“Hi Steve,” it’s odd hearing Bucky’s voice over the phone. It’s the first time he’s ever heard it. They never had a reason or the money to call each other when they lived together and Steve’s watched every word Bucky’s said since the Potomac. He didn’t realize how much he relied on non-verbal cues from Bucky to read him. 

“Hey, everything okay?”

“Yes.” Steve hears rustling in the background, “I was going to go to sleep and I wanted to say good night.”

Steve grins, “Good night. I hope you sleep well.”

“Thanks Steve.”

“Hey Buck,” Steve catches him before he hangs up, “I’m going to the store. Can I get you anything to give to Sam to bring tomorrow?”

Bucky is quiet on the other end of the line for a moment, “The only thing I really need here are some of your drawings.”

“My drawings?”

“Yeah,” Bucky’s voice is low, none of the timidity that has flecked it over the last week, “Always sleep with one of your drawings watching over me. If I have a choice, at least. Don’t know where that picture you drew of me got to after all these years.”

His voice sounds so much like him that Steve disappears. He drops into the life they could have had- if they hadn’t gone to war and had stayed home, in their little apartment. Better yet, if they had been born sixty years later. Wandering around Brooklyn in the 00s may not have been any safer than the 30s but they could have held hands. They could have told their families how much they loved each other. Gotten married. 

“I have it.”

“You do?” Steve can hear the grin, “Can I have it?”

“I don’t know. I’ve gotten pretty used to it. I have it hanging in my apartment.”

“You can’t take back a gift Stevie- that’s my picture. Only right thing to do is give it back.”

Steve can feel Sam’s amused gaze on his neck. He turns into a grocery store parking lot, “Maybe, what if I gave you other drawings instead?”

“Whatever you make for me, I’ll be happy with. I love everything you do.”

Steve turns the car off and clasps his hands between his legs, “I’ll send scribbles then, that alright?”

Bucky laughs, “As long as you do the scribbles, that’s all that matters Sweetie.”

Steve can’t help the shivers going up his spine, “Ok Buck, I’ll send lots of pictures tomorrow then. Good night.”

“Night Steve,” Bucky hangs up the phone and Steve turns to Sam, “He sounds like himself.”

Sam smiles, “it’s a good thing Steve. Talking to you, it helped him. It’s good.”

Steve has to cover his mouth to hide the embarrassing smile hiding there, “I haven’t drawn anything since he fell.”

Sam punches his arm, “We’re going to have to get you a sketchpad then. Come on Cap, I bet the new fangled technology makes some great colored pencils.”

*****

On Day seven, Sam shows up to Bucky’s room with a grocery bag full of Hershey’s bars, a roll of scotch tape, and an inch-high stack of Steve’s drawings that he had stayed up all night doing. Some of them did end up being scribbles, he knew Bucky would get a kick out of that, but most are pictures of Bucky and their neighborhood. 

Bucky looks at the stack, goes through the top few, and frowns, “Steve didn’t give you any other drawings?”

“He did,” Sam drops the bag, “I couldn’t carry everything.” Sam darts back into the hall after he knocks on the door for the guards. He hauls in Bucky’s picture, framed and preserved months ago. 

Bucky’s grin lasts through the entire process of hanging up the drawings. By the time Sam and Steve leave that day, Bucky has laughed six times and he has the walls covered. He adds the framed picture to his little bedside table with the other pictures from their past. 

*****

The night of the tenth day, Bucky’s ringtone wakes Steve.

“Hey Buck,” Steve yawns into the phone, “Everything ok?”

“I don’t know.”

Steve sits up at that, “What do you mean.”

“I’m confused.”

His voice isn’t the stilted careful thing of the first few days under observation. It’s all old Buck, but it’s old Buck from the war. Every sentence weary and the weight of so many dead on his shoulders. 

“What are you confused about? Can I help?”

“I hope so. You remember that time in England?”

Steve settles back against his pillows, “Have to give me more clues than that. We spent a lot of time in England during the war.”

“When we broke up.”

“We didn’t break up,” Steve’s voice is careful but forceful, “We got in a fight.”

“Ok, the fight that would have ended in us breaking up if I hadn’t fallen.”

“We wouldn’t have broken up Buck. I had plans. Once you told me- once you opened my eyes to the fact they wouldn’t let me go home, I made up some plans. None of them were perfect but with you editing, one of them would have worked.”

Bucky’s silent for a moment on the other end so Steve tries, “Does that help the confusion or make it worse?”

“Not sure yet,” Bucky huffs, “So that was definitely you.”

Steve, brain still half asleep, “Yeah Buck, it was me.”

“So you’re Captain America?”

Steve face palms at 2:36 in the morning in his bed. He’s not sure what to do here, Buck’s been doing so well-

“Steve, come on, it’s not a hard question.”

“Yeah Buck,” Steve sighs, “I’m Captain America.”

Steve can almost hear Bucky nodding to himself before the abrupt- “I almost killed you.”

“You didn’t,” Steve reassures, “you couldn’t.’”

“Yeah, but I wanted to.”

“Not you, Hydra wanted you to.”

“So you’re not old.” Bucky must run a hand through his hair because Steve hears the rustles, “You’re not in some home somewhere?”

“No Buck,” Steve fidgets and decides to come clean, “I’ve been on the other side of the glass every day while you’ve talked to Sam.”

“Jesus,” Bucky swears, “You heard all that?”

“Couldn’t stay away,” Steve hopes he’s saying the right thing, “You know me, follow you everywhere.”

It’s quiet again on the other end of the phone. Steve thinks Bucky’s hung up, glances down to make sure the call hasn’t dropped but it’s still going. Steve waits.

“You heard about all the things I’ve done then?” It’s said plainly, no inflection.

Steve sighs, “Yes. I have.”

“Read the files too?”

“Yes.”

“Why you holding on to this Steve?” Bucky must be rubbing his face because there’s some sort of static coming through, “I’m a monster. Why’re you coming and looking at the pieces left when there’s no chance of me being whole?”

“You’re not the only one. Both of us went to war.”

“You almost killed yourself to save New York,” Bucky raises his voice, “while I’ve assassinated more people than I can even remember.” His words start to speed up, “I remember a new face every day, life bleeding out in front of my eyes even if I close them and try to push the memory away. They keep coming, I can’t stop remembering. I killed- I killed-”

“It’s okay Buck.”

“No it’s fucking not! I killed Howard, Steve,” he chokes, “I killed Howard.”

Steve can’t help the soft sound that escapes, “I figured it was you. Didn’t know for sure.”

“Do you hear yourself? I killed our friend and you’re absolving me?”

“It wasn’t you-”

“It was me,” Bucky insists, “They picked me. They picked me for a reason. They picked me because they knew there was something in me that could be the weapon they wanted me to be.”

Steve listens to Bucky panting on the other end. He’s pacing. Steve can hear the gentle slaps of skin against the ground. As much as Steve’s heart hurts, he’s energized. It’s Bucky, his love, on the other end of the phone. No doubt about it anymore. 

“I’ve been thinking about that.”

The pacing stops.

“What?”

“Why did we get picked?” Steve throws his legs over the side of the bed, leans his weight on his elbows on his knees, “Out of all the people in that damned war, they picked us, two guys from Brooklyn. I think I figured it out.”

“Yes, it’s because they wanted you to be Captain America,” Bucky insists through the phone, “Like you said in London, they wanted someone like you, good to the core, to use the powers, so it wouldn’t go to someone’s head. So they must have picked me because I’ve got a rotten core.”

“No Buck,” Steve muses, “It was all chance.”

Bucky pauses again, “Are you fucking with me Steve? They spent millions of dollars on you, just as much money on me. That’s not chance.”

“It was Buck.” Steve continues, “They spent millions of dollars on the research. If I hadn’t run into Erskine at the fair, they would have picked one of the other guys to go first on the machine. And you, they tried to make dozens of supersoldiers before you, but they’d go too far and kill them by mistake. It was a complete coincidence that I raided Azzano before they could kill you. If anything, we’re both stubborn and tough and got hit one too many times before we turned twenty, but it was a coincidence. Coincidence and investments that they didn’t want to lose out on.”

Bucky must have sat during Steve’s ramblings because it’s quiet, “You really believe that? You really believe it was fate taking a shit on us?”

Steve snorts, “Yeah, but fate took a shit on us the second the war started. If I hadn’t gotten that serum, you would have died in Azzano and I would have self-destructed. The world certainly hasn’t been kind to us but we’ve done some good. And I won’t regret a second of my time with you Buck, nothing shitty about that.”

“Even the multiple attempts on your life?”

“Even those,” Steve smirks on his end of the line, “Proves I’m better at fighting than you.”

“Please, I could have taken you out so many times if I didn’t love you so damned much.” The panic in Bucky’s voice has dissipated so it’s a surprise when he says, “You deserve better than this Steve. Better than who I am now.”

Steve grabs the mattress, the words come out all on their own, “I deserve piss all. But I want you. That’s what matters.”

Bucky takes a strangled breath. Steve sits on the line, listening, “Steve?”

“Yeah Buck?”

“Can you come in tomorrow? Promise I won’t try to kill you again.”

Steve breaks out in a huge grin, “Jesus Buck, of course.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, that’s the only thing I’ve wanted to do for the last ten days. They’ve had to hold me back.”

Bucky gives a short chuckle, “Sam wasn’t making a joke?”

“Nope. Almost broke the mirror once too.”

“Oh Sweetie, I’m so sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.” Steve lies back on the bed.

“Me too Stevie. See you in the morning.”

*****

On day eleven, Steve shows up forty five minutes earlier than usual. 

He waves to Natasha and turns to Maria, “How’s he doing today?”

“Hey. Honestly, it’s weird. He’s put on and taken off three different shirts and he’s fixed his hair in the mirror at least a dozen times since he woke up.” Steve grins, heading toward the door, “Hey, where are you going?”

“I’m going in today.”

“You sure about that? I know the saying is third times a charm but not sure if I trust it when it comes to assassins.”

“He’s not an assassin anymore,” it’s Sam, sitting in the corner next to Natasha, “He’s just a good old boy from Brooklyn now.” Sam flashes him the thumbs up and Natasha smirks at Steve. 

With no more objections, Steve steps through the doorway and heads towards the cell, no longer guarded. The only mechanism keeping him from Bucky is a little switch that he flips, pushes open the door. 

Bucky’s sitting on the cot, navy duvet bunched around him and hair pulled back. His eyes are bright and full of charm, as if he’s been plucked from the middle of a dance hall in 1938. 

Bucky smiles, “Come here Sweetheart.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Tumblr: emmybazy.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> Tumblr: emmybazy.tumblr.com


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